


The Skies I'm Under: Click in My Head

by Star1086



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen, Lots of Alternate Timelines, Season 4 reboot, Time Travel, stranger danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star1086/pseuds/Star1086
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4 reboot.  Technically, it's a reboot of the reboot. Or, More specifically, what happens when Peter Bishop erases himself from the timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, this is going to be massively long, a little bit complicated and a lot confusing. A good chunk is actually written out, but I have no idea when it'll all get posted. Forget everything you think you know about season 4. Thanks to Power Ranger for making me still write fanfiction for a show that's been cancelled.

Olivia opened her eyes and found herself in a wide abyss of nothingness, swallowed by darkness and surrounded by the thick smell of sulfur, with the glint from the power of the machine glowing alabaster in the distance. _He_ was there with her too. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but his eyes were bright against his nondescript face and she had a burning thrill of recognition for a moment, but it was too far out of reach to place and it was as maddening as it was frightening.

There was a pull of terror from deep within her chest and she suddenly felt the certainty that she needed to get to the machine, so she tried to move but her legs felt boneless, her movements clumsy, and the closer she got to the machine the farther it seemed to slip away. Her panic deepened, and though every ounce of instinct told her to run away from the machine, she kept slogging through the weightlessness and fear because she desperately needed to save the faceless man trapped inside.

“Wait!” she said, but her voice was lost against the rapid acceleration of the machine powering up, the man inside trapped by his hands and feet in its belly with his head thrown back, and Olivia instinctually knew that he wouldn’t survive unless she did _something_. A great crack erupted overhead and the dark abyss glowed brightly from behind the stranger, throwing him into silhouette.  Another flash of lightning and his face was bathed in light; his piercing eyes looked knowingly back at her. The atmosphere cracked again and then erupted like a nuclear bomb around them, stars popping brightly against the expanding darkness and universes bursting into existence from the nothingness from which they came. Everything expanded so quickly and violently that she should have been scared, but wasn’t. The hum from the machine thrummed through her and she was caught, awestruck.

“Are you doing that?” Olivia asked, as she watched entire solar systems fill the vast black space, wondering how they would all fit. Sweat was beading against the stranger’s forehead and she knew he was somehow doing all of it, and it was truly beautiful to witness. But it was filling too quickly, billions of new worlds pushing in on them, and then the machine’s thrumming turned threatening and Olivia became frightened again. Something was wrong. 

Far off in the distance, worlds began to explode, stars and galaxies disappeared with a force so ferocious that she was thrown to her knees, her fingers digging into blackness.

The man’s name was hot on her tongue, but she couldn’t form the right sounds to warn him to stop, and all she could manage was a frustrated scream. His eyes held her where she’d fallen, clear and blue like the ocean and her blood ran cold under his scrutiny. The world around her continued to fall apart, the machine twisting and glowing red as it all crumbled. With a final, snarled roar everything around her began to shred, ribbons of universes twisting out of existence, but the only thing she cared about was the man inside the machine who was being ripped apart with it.

“Pet—“ was all she got out before she was startled back into consciousness.

Olivia instantly felt the nothingness fade away and realized she was back in her bed, blankets coiled tightly around her legs. She kicked them off in frustration, feeling sweat cling to her skin. Her hand slid to the other side of the bed for comfort, and pangs of disappointment met her when she found it empty. She sat up and pushed aside the hair that was sticking to her sweaty neck.

“I’m home,” she said, “I’m home.” Just like she said every time she woke up from the nightmare, the same one she’d had ever since the bridge first appeared over a month ago. There was something perpetually disturbing about the dream, the haunting recognition of the man’s face that she was never able to fully make out. And even worse, along with the dreams came the nagging feeling that she’d forgotten something important.

She let herself fall backward and concentrated hard on the man’s face. The lines were blurry but his eyes were always distinct. She knew those eyes. Suddenly, from over her pillow she saw the flash of _something_ in the corner of the bedroom, someone watching her, but by the time she bolted forward to reach for her gun, the flicker had gone and all that remained were the red curtains cradling her window and billowing soundlessly in the early morning sun. 


	2. Little Talks

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear,” Walter said over the penlight flashing in Olivia’s eyes. Walter’s hand shook slightly from the strain—same as it always had, but it made Olivia feel just a little more nauseated than normal.

“Is it?” Olivia asked as Walter tilted her head from one side to the other to feel her lymph nodes. The lab seemed different to her as she sat on the old crooked stool with the bent leg. She’d been in the same lab for years but now it suddenly _felt_ wrong.

“You’ve been traumatized since returning from _over there,_ ” Walter said contemptuously, and Olivia cringed at the memory. “You haven’t properly recovered. This could be a case of PTSD…” he paced around Olivia like a worried hen and her frustration bubbled.

“It’s been a year, Walter,” Olivia said as she pushed off the stool. There was a _whoosh_ and she felt disoriented, like everything had shifted just a few inches to the right without her and it was only Walter’s hand that kept her upright. A migraine bloomed behind her eyes; bright white and pounding, and she had to sit back down on the stool that tilted the wrong way now.

Olivia didn’t need to look up to see the face Walter was giving her, like she was some kind of science experiment that had suddenly done something interesting. So she hid her face by looking down, avoiding the overhead lights that were blinding her.

“Aster, the lights please,” Walter snapped, and the lab descended into darkness and Olivia could feel the pressure inside her skull lift.

“Can you tell me your name?” Walter asked, his calm tone barely winning over the hint of hysterics that bled through his words. Olivia felt him tilting her jaw up again.

“I know who I am—” Olivia complained as she tried to pull away.

“Name,” Walter said again in a voice that was all business. “Please humor an old man, Olivia. What year is it?” he added, a bit more softly.

“Olivia Dunham,” she sighed in defeat. “2012. I’m in the lab at Harvard and you’re Walter Bishop.” She tried giving him a placating face, but found Walter’s was still lined in worry.

“And how did we meet?”

“I checked you out of St. Claire’s Hospital after Flight 627. I wanted your help with trying to save John’s life.” Walter’s frown deepened. 

“This isn’t PTSD, Walter. And I’m not crazy,” Olivia continued but then hesitated. “But I’m seeing things. Things that shouldn’t be there…things that aren’t there…I know this isn’t helping me not sound crazy.”

“Is it similar to what you experienced before?” Walter asked, as he retrieved the penlight from his pocket to flash it into her eyes again. “Your pupils are dilated,” Walter mused. “Olivia, do you remember when you first returned? You experienced similar episodes of displaced realities. Could anything have triggered another _incident_?”

“No,” Olivia answered, not in a hurry to relive the memory of almost having her brain cut out for study by those in the other universe. The light flashed. Olivia blinked through her burning retinas and tried to ground herself by staring at the fibers of Walter’s worn lab coat.

“It’s plausible that you’re still experiencing a residual effect of having your memories altered. Perhaps something traumatic has taken place that your brain is unable to process?” he asked as he continued to flick the light back and forth.

“No, there’s nothing,” Olivia insisted. But before she could finish her argument, she watched in confusion as something started to happen and Walter’s face began to shift and change.

At first it was faint, visible only in the flickering between the glint of the penlight moving from one eye to the other, but suddenly the transformation was real enough that it caused Olivia to catapult herself away from the face in front of her that was no longer Walter’s, but instead belonged to a younger man with steel blue eyes.

She kicked the stool so hard that it clattered backward when it fell, and the voice that was urgently telling her to calm down should have been Walter’s, but wasn’t. The man’s voice was barely audible over the frantic thrumming of her exploding heart.

 And just like that, the apparition in front of her was gone. Walter’s shocked face and familiar hunched frame were all that remained.

“Everything okay in he—?“ Olivia heard Astrid’s voice ask. The end of her question hung anti-climatically as Astrid watched the scene unfold.

“Olivia,” Walter said reassuringly. “Olivia, it’s me. Walter Bishop.”

It was strange, Olivia thought, how Walter seemed so frightened when she was the one who’d just seen a ghost. Olivia’s head pounded as she scanned the lab, trying to discern where the man had gone.

“Olivia,” came Astrid’s tense voice, and all the static that Olivia hadn’t realized was buzzing in her head stopped. “What are you doing?” Astrid’s sidearm was out of its holster, her stance defensive. _When did Astrid get a gun?_

The thought pulled Olivia’s focus down and she found herself tightly gripping her own drawn weapon, barrel pointed squarely at Walter’s chest.

“Jesus,” Olivia said, crippled by horror as she dropped the gun and everyone took a collective breath. She stood paralyzed until someone did something. It was Walter who turned out to be the bravest.

“Do you feel anything other than disorientation? Do you know where you are?” Walter stammered slightly as he shuffled closer to her like a beaten dog. Astrid followed close behind.

“Walter, I’m sorry…” Olivia mumbled as she felt prickles of embarrassment hot on her cheeks.

Walter guided Olivia back to the retrieved stool that was crooked in all the right places now. She tried to ignore Astrid and Walter’s combined looks of shock and disappointment at what had just happened. The gun Astrid had been holding before was gone, and Olivia began to wonder if it had ever really been there in the first place.

“What did you see?” Walter asked.

Olivia thought hard, and once she realized the answer she hung her shoulders in defeat.

“Who,” Olivia corrected. Walter and Astrid shared a confused look.

“Who?” Walter asked.

“It’s him,” Olivia said, and leaned her elbows onto her knees as she felt her stomach flip. She was too scared to look anywhere except at Walter’s shoes. She felt dread at having to say the words out loud as the clouded images in her head started to clear.

She didn’t want to admit that she was crazy.

“Who did you see?” Astrid asked into the silence. From the distance Olivia could smell the peppermint from Astrid’s coffee. Olivia took a breath and lifted her head to fix her gaze on Walter, trying to ignore how similar the younger man’s face had been to his.

“I’ve seen him before. The man from the other side. It’s him.”


	3. Ghosts That We Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles and are shamelessly ripped off from songs that are located on my iPod. So, they sorta belong to me...

Olivia nursed the bruises that were beginning to bloom at the crook of her elbow as she let herself into her apartment, feeling their sting every time she moved too quickly. She fell back onto her bed, too exhausted to be bothered with changing out of her wrinkled suit. Walter had taken multiple blood samplesat her urging for analysis. It was a hell of a lot better to be poked and prodded in an effort to try to figure out what was happening to her, rather than to do nothing and just accept that she was slowly turning into...well, into Walter.

Olivia dug into her pocket and tossed the small bottle that Walter had given her onto her nightstand, not even bothering to check what it was that he had “prescribed” to her, or how he had obtained it. It was an antipsychotic; she knew that much, though she hadn’t caught what it was, allowing Walter to press it into her palm before she had left the lab for the night. His eyes had flashed conspiratorially at Astrid, nodding and giving her a “just in case” answer with averted eyes.

“Congratulations, you’re going crazy,” Olivia grumbled to herself. Her arm was falling asleep from the angle but she was too tired to move it into a more comfortable position. The pillow even felt off, and she seriously debated taking one of the unidentifiable pills Walter had given her.

“Definitely crazy,” she muttered, as the dots on her arm started to bleed through the material of her shirt. It was early in the evening, the sun dying behind the buildings and disappearing into the horizon outside.  Her thoughts trailed back to the man that had become a permanent fixture in her waking dreams, and not for the first time she questioned whether or not she had really made it back home from the other side.

She’d been a mess when she’d crawled out of the tank a year ago.  Malnourished, half-delirious with fever, not to mention the physical toll that crossing over had taken on her body. The Cortexiphan and the fever it had induced had broken her and destroyed her short-term memory. Even now, even after the Bureau had required she attend mandated shrink sessions, she still found her knees cracked whenever she bent down, and it was a constant reminder of being tossed around another universe and unknowingly living another person’s life.

It wasn’t until weeks after being released from the hospital, and after she’d begun her therapy sessions that she had started to remember. Her memories were a jumbled mess of blended lives; hers, the other Olivia’s, and it was exhausting sorting through them all. She still mixed them up when she was especially tired, sometimes dialing her mother’s number, only to stop with the phone still clenched in her hand. It wasn’t until much later that she had started to remember the man, the steel blue eyes and the cocky expression, dark navy wool coat popped at the collar, and she couldn’t sort out whose life he was supposed to belong to.

A cool breeze snuck in through the open window and fluttered along her face, and with it came a scent of familiar musk that she couldn’t place, but it was comforting and she closed her eyes and breathed it in. 

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until the knock on the door awoke her.  Her bedroom was dark; her clothes around her hot and crumpled, her arm completely asleep. She looked at the clock on her nightstand and it read 10:13pm. How long had she been asleep? The knocking persisted, sharp raps that boomed in the tiny apartment.

Olivia pulled herself up, flexed her hand to get the feeling back into it and slouched her way to the door, gun in hand. She knew better than to answer without it. The knocking continued, shredding her nerves as she pushed her face against the peep hole. She froze when she saw the face that met her on the other side. She was suddenly short of air, quickly unclasping the lock to throw open the door.

“Hey,” the voice on the other side said.

“Charlie,” Olivia breathed, suddenly flooded with a shift of emotion that she couldn’t quite explain. Charlie stood still in the doorway with an expression on his face that she knew meant he was pissed. She didn’t care. She grasped his arms to make sure he was really there; suddenly paranoid that he might disappear. Charlie’s face melted into exhaustion, the bags under his eyes distinct and his arms stiffened under her hands. He gave up looking upset and settled into confused.

“Livy,” Charlie said as he politely pushed by her embrace to storm into her apartment, “you got something against answering your cell phone?” He was still irritated, she could tell. Olivia had forgotten about her phone, had tossed it on the couch in the living room when she’d first come home.

“Thirteen missed calls,” she said as she thumbed through the messages. “Is everything okay?” she asked, feeling jittery all of the sudden. Charlie looked the same as he always had, though his clothes fit him much too loosely these days.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Charlie said, folding his arms over his chest. “We were worried.” He cocked his eyebrow at Olivia like she’d pick up what he was saying telepathically.

Olivia was having a hard time concentrating, seeing Charlie had stirred up feelings that she couldn’t figure out. She sat down, feeling a wave of dizziness start to cloud her sight. It lasted only a few seconds before it became clear again.

“The birthday dinner,” Olivia lamented. “Oh, Charlie I’m sorry. I completely forgot.” She dropped her head into her hands and Charlie’s stance loosened.

“Will you tell Lexi I’m sorry?” Olivia continued, as Charlie plunked himself down next to her, wearing a mask of hidden strain.

“Big girl’s already seven,” Charlie said, his eyes brightening up like they did every time he talked about his daughter.  Something caught his eye and he reached for Olivia’s wrist. His face couldn’t hide his concern as he examined the bruising in the crook of her elbow. “Sonja was disappointed you weren’t there,” he commented distractedly.

“It’s nothing,” Olivia said quickly as she took back her arm.

“Obviously,” Charlie replied.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Olivia said, tucking her arm safely away from Charlie’s dark glare. “I’ll take Lexi to karate this week.”

He gave her an approving smile. 

“Alright, kiddo. I’m sure she’d love that,” Charlie said as he slapped his thighs and stood. “I’m gonna get back and let them know you’re still walking the earth.” Olivia followed him to the door, mumbling another half-hearted apology that he waved off.

Charlie hesitated at the door.

“Liv?” he finally hedged, hovering in the threshold. 

“Yeah?” Olivia asked, and dropped her arm again when she caught Charlie staring.

“Listen, I just want you to know…” he started, and Olivia made a pained face.

“Charlie don’t,” Olivia protested, “not from you, too.” 

“Just hear me out. I know things have been weird with…whatever it is that you’re doing with the mad scientist,” Charlie cut through Olivia’s darkened face. She didn’t like Charlie’s nickname for Walter. “You’ve been…different the last couple months. It’s like you’re not all the way here, just ghosting along. You can fool the others, but you can’t fool me. I’m concerned about you.”

“Don’t be.” Olivia interjected.

Charlie gave her a tight smile. “Not up to you, kiddo,” he said. “Just…take care of yourself. Whatever it is that you’re going through, we’re here.”

 There was something about the way he said _“we”_ that made her throat tight.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Olivia said and closed the door behind him.

It was probably the exhaustion she felt, and all the blood that had been drawn earlier that made her feel overly emotional, but seeing Charlie had made her chest rattle and she could barely get the door closed fast enough before breaking down. The door was solid against her as she slid to the floor, eyes blurred and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why seeing Charlie had made her start to cry.

It was strange, though.  She wasn’t crying because she was upset. Actually, she felt lighter than she had in years, like a burden had been lifted from her chest and she could finally take a breath of air.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked her empty hands as she tried to pull herself together. She sat slumped against the door, arms on her knees, staring into her darkened living room.

_Just stress._

She was just beginning to breathe normally again and working her way around to getting up when it hit: the flicker in the air like an electric pulse and then there _he_ was. He stood not two feet in front of her, and he looked just as she remembered him over there; the pea coat, the mussed brown hair, but most distinctly, the soft blue eyes, now wide as marbles. Olivia pressed herself into the door, trying to melt in the wood. Could he see her?

“Olivia?” the ghost asked, his voice washed out like he was shouting from a great distance and Olivia wasn’t sure if it would be more or less crazy to talk back to a figment of her imagination.

 “You’re not here,” Olivia told the nothingness and closed her eyes. She counted to a full thirty seconds before she allowed herself to open them again.

The man was gone, the apartment once again sat empty as it had moments before.

Olivia felt the hot tears on her face before she understood what they meant, the sobs breaking to crest inside her throat and she stood, checking behind the couch to make sure he was really gone.

“Olivia, it’s me,” the phantom voice said from behind her and she jumped, twisting to see him now standing where he hadn’t been seconds before.

Olivia clenched her fists and strode into the bedroom to retrieve the bottle Walter had given her.

“You don’t exist,” she mumbled as she opened the cap and shook two of the capsules into her palm. The man flickered from the living room where he stood, coming in and out of focus. His mouth was moving but there was no sound coming out of it.

Through angry slits she stared at the man as she popped the pills into her mouth, and she could almost see the shock register in his face when she swallowed them whole. 


	4. Where Is My Mind?

Walter was humming. Again.

“Walter,” Astrid said, “you’re doing it again. The same song. For the last hour. I hope you’re working through whatever it is that’s so important because I can’t take another round of the Best of Bowie.”

Walter frowned at her from above the microscope he was using.

“I wasn’t humming,” Walter said. Astrid tossed the folders that she had left early to pick up before heading into the lab on the table next to him.  Walter studiously ignored them.

“You were,” she continued, “just like you always do when you’re working. Always the same song.”

Walter grimaced and ignored the files even though they sat a few inches from his elbow, much to Astrid’s annoyance.

“I have perfect pitch you know,” Walter said by way of argument and Astrid sighed in defeat. “If I had a proper turntable then I wouldn’t be wasting my breath on show tunes.” Walter’s voice rose again in agitation.

Astrid tried to placate him. “You _do_ have a turntable, Walter. It doesn’t work and you won’t let me get you a new one.” Walter blinked. He hadn’t remembered owning one. He moved so quickly to anger when he couldn’t recall something he should have been able to remember.

“I don’t want a new one, I have a perfectly acceptable turntable. What I need for you people to understand is the exquisite sound of vinyl, and that music is not what you download on a wretched computer!” Walter’s voice rose and his eyes flashed. Astrid’s face stayed perfectly neutral.

“Did you seriously just say _you people?_ ” Astrid crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. Walter’s tantrum quickly deflated and he smiled sheepishly.

“You misunderstand,” Walter grumbled. “FBI people, dear. What I mean is in the entirety of the Bureau and Massive Dynamic, not one person exists that is capable of fixing something as fundamental as a turntable?”

“Currently, the FBI doesn’t offer turntable repair at Quantico, and I don’t believe the scientists at Massive Dynamic have any free time as it is, with all the temporal disturbances they’ve been dealing with for the last month.”

“What temporal disturbances?” Walter asked and Astrid’s mouth flattened. She hadn’t intended to share.

“What I’ve found…doing some reconnaissance work…through Massive Dynamic’s mainframe is that there’s been major distortions ever since the Bridge appeared a month ago,” Astrid explained cryptically.

“Massive Dynamic is reporting distortions? They’re allowing you to access data on their mainframes?” Walter’s mouth curled down again. Astrid’s eyes shot sideways and she chewed for a moment.

“Not exactly...” Astrid answered and Walter’s face turned into a wicked smile. “Astro! That’s marvelous!”

Astrid rolled her eyes but her face remained warm, She sidestepped Walter’s obvious excitement at anything that screwed with Massive Dynamic.  “What we _need_ is an engineer. I’ll see if I can find one with an affinity for 70s nostalgia,” she added. She knew how to take the wind out of Walter’s sails and direct him to calmer waters. Especially waters that didn’t accuse her of espionage and treason.

Walter suddenly had a peculiar look, and his face drained of color.  

“Walter?” Astrid said.

Walter jolted out of the haze like he’d been stung. “Nothing dear,” he said and hid his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “Déjà vu. That’s all.”

Whatever Walter was pondering he didn’t want to share, which was strange for him. Astrid gave him another eyebrow lift to let him know that wasn’t going to cut it.

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten something,” Walter admitted. “It’s something important and I can’t recall what it was.” Astrid felt bad for the man. “It’s rather frustrating,” he continued, defeated.  

Astrid smiled. “The lab analysis on Olivia’s blood samples?” she asked, tempting him with the files.

Walter’s face lit up like it was Christmas and he’d just opened his stocking.  He shuffled around the lab table to retrieve them.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Walter said and grabbed them from an exasperated Astrid.

“Must have slipped my mind,” she mumbled as she turned to clean up the space around Walter’s latest experiment. He had slipped back to humming and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Oh,” Walter said, just then. It was something about how he said it that made Astrid stop from her tidying. “Oh my,” he continued.

“Walter? What is it?” Her brow furrowed as she looked at his sloping shoulders.

“I know what’s wrong with Olivia, why she’s been acting so unbalanced.” Walter said as he turned to face her. His face was alert and his eyes brilliant; Astrid knew it wouldn’t be good.

“Walter, what is it?” she repeated when he didn’t immediately respond. He seemed lost in the files, his mouth turned down into a snarl.

“It’s Cortexiphan,” Walter said, voice growling. “Olivia’s been dosed with it.”

 


	5. Whispers In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we continue.

Olivia was feeling pleasantly relaxed. She knew she had to be asleep, because she was never this relaxed when she was awake. But she knew she wasn’t completely asleep; the springs in her mattress pressed gently into her back to remind her she was home, and the warmth of her bed held her gently in the in-between of sleep and wakefulness. It was a pleasant place to be - endlessly dark, everything a blue iridescence and muted shadow, and for once, she wasn’t scared of the darkness.

She also knew that she wasn’t alone. There was an inexplicable weight pressing deliciously down on top of her, anchoring her; arms and hands cushioning her head, and cool lips with hot breath slithering down the crook of her neck with barely-there kisses. 

And suddenly… _oh._ The weight pressed _inside_ her and Olivia reached blindly out to touch the dewy skin of the man whispering indistinct words ever so gently against her ear. She broke out in one full, glorious shiver.

_“I love you,”_ the ghost whispered, _“do you know that?”_ Olivia didn’t have the voice to speak so she listened. Strong fingers touched, teeth nipped and she felt the swell low in her stomach as she pulled him closer, nails digging into his back as she breathed him in. His breath came in hot, wet bursts against her neck and she held him tight to her, suddenly afraid.

_“Stay,”_ was all she could get out, though she didn’t know what she meant. “Please.” She felt desperate.  

He pulled back to look at her, his face beautiful in the half-light, skin shimmering. He grinned at her and the burning in her stomach erupted and she came with his voice in her head and his lips biting at the corner of her mouth. 

Olivia clawed awake through the dream with sweat coating her face and her stomach still in knots. Her phone vibrated endlessly on her nightstand. She could still feel the residual effects of the dream and her hand shook when she finally grabbed the phone.  

“Hello?”

“Liv, it’s me,” Charlie chirped into her ear, and she could hear the echo of streets passing by as he drove. “I’m heading to Massive Dynamic. Nina Sharp’s requested some additional security for whatever Walter did with the Bridge. She asked for you specifically.”

Olivia barely registered the words Charlie was saying, still flushed from the dream. The images in her head flickered and she thought she could still see the shadow of the man in the corner.

“C’mon kiddo. I know how you’ve been avoiding everything Massive Dynamic since...” he trailed off. “I promise I won’t let you get kidnapped and replaced with the Pod Person.”  When she still didn’t respond, he added “You busy? Working a case for the mad scientist for something?” 

Olivia snapped to the present. The shape in the corner disappeared.

“No. I’m not,” She answered automatically.  Walter’s little orange medicine bottle stared innocuously back at her from the nightstand. “I’m in. I’ll be ready in five.” She tossed the phone aside and crawled out of bed, hesitating before grabbing the pill bottle and running into the bathroom to change.

She didn’t hear her phone vibrating in the folds of the sheets, Walter’s name lit across the screen.

*

Olivia had been there at ground zero when the Bridge had suddenly appeared from nothingness inside the belly of Liberty Island, standing sandwiched awkwardly between Walter and Broyles as she felt the room shake, the machine thrumming menacingly in the background, vibrating her bones and chattering her teeth.

When the room split apart to make way for the Bridge, so did Olivia, not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. She’d felt her life end when the shadowy figures materialized into the Department of Defense’s Fringe Division from the other side.  She saw her own face staring back at her with the same shock and awe she knew she was feeling. And in that instant, something inside her died, and it wasn’t just from seeing the neatly parted red hair of the woman who had stolen her life in front of her.

Walter could never explain with any satisfaction why or how the Bridge first appeared. The best he could posit was that somehow the universes had inexplicably extracted themselves from their separate streams and had become linked, creating an open wormhole to one another, somehow maintained by Olivia’s Cortexiphan “powers.”

Walter never knew what the trigger might have been for her to magically bridge the two worlds, because she certainly had no intentions to ever return to that place. _Just one of those things,_ he’d said, shrugging his shoulders. Olivia knew he didn’t believe it, and he’d looked at her a bit differently from then on.

The only thing Olivia knew for certain was that she’d felt like she’d been punched in the lungs ever since, and she had no desire to have anything to do with the other side, allies now or not. She stayed as far away from Massive Dynamic and New York as possible. The closer she got to the machine…well, she didn’t like it.

She now sat in the passenger seat of Charlie’s car, riding in silence, secretly dreading her decision to come along. She watched the landscape wash out against the window as they drove and tried to not think too hard about having to see the machine again.

“You think I’m too young to retire?” Charlie asked suddenly. When Olivia turned to look at him his face was stone cold.

“You?” she responded, “Really?”

“Job isn’t what it was ten years ago.  I’m actually driving up to New York to Massive Dynamic because a giant time machine from the future needs a tune up,” Charlie said. “I never thought for an instant that this would be the world I would be living in. You know, the truth is, I’m obsolete.” Charlie took a smooth turn that led into a more commercial neighborhood.

“It’s not a time machine,” Olivia said.

Charlie gave her a strained glare. “Okay,” he said. “It’s a giant machine that opened a hole between realities. Infinitely more terrifying. I can’t believe I’m even saying the words out loud.”

Olivia didn’t respond, but she did hedge a small smile. She never would have believed it either.

“So,” Charlie continued, “I think I could retire early, take Sonja and Lexi to some island somewhere and just pretend that none of this exists. Die blissfully in denial that there’s a whole ‘nother universe out there where I’m infected with bugs.” Charlie made a sideways grin.

“You’ve never actually met your twin,” Olivia said. “Maybe he _likes_ the bugs.”

Charlie gave her a hard look before pulling his eyes back to the road.

“ _He’s not my twin_. And I will die never meeting him. There’s nothing that would make me crazier than meeting someone who’s supposed to be you and seeing all the things your life could have been.”

Olivia’s face flattened. Charlie noticed and sighed.

“You’re a lot stronger than the rest of us, kiddo,” he said without looking at her. Olivia went back to looking out the window again, trying to not remember and they sat in silence for a long while.

Something suddenly changed once Charlie turned the corner on 10th leading up to Massive Dynamic’s towering frame on 18th Street. Olivia could feel a thrum begin in her chest, like something had clicked on and she was being set on fire from the inside. Flat dread seeped into every crevice of her skin and bones and it made her feel excruciatingly ill.

She tried to keep herself calm even though she was flushed and straining to stay upright in the seat, stealing a sideways glance at Charlie who seemed preoccupied with trying to navigate through Manhattan’s busy streets.

She was experiencing sensory overload, everything coming in much too quickly and acutely: the sounds of the traffic outside, people talking and laughing and chewing, colors blurring together and bleeding into indistinct shades, and she suddenly couldn’t tie her perceptions to reality and had to reach out for the door handle to keep herself grounded while not exploding out of her skin.

“We’re here,” Charlie’s voice cut through her confusion and Olivia was able to take a shaky breath.

“You okay?” she heard him ask when he saw her nearly doubled over in the front seat. She felt his hand on her back and it took her several long, regulating breaths before she could discern where it was she was sitting.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said through a trachea that felt like it was crushed. “I just…I just need a minute. I can’t go in there right now. Go ahead.”

“We can wait—”  Charlie started to argue but she shook him off.

“No, I’m fine. I just need a second.” She wiped the sweat from her brow. “Car sick,” she tried to explain lamely.

Charlie gave her a skeptical face but didn’t question her.

“Okay. I’ll go up. Take whatever time you need,” he said as he opened the door. The cool air rushed in and it helped to ease Olivia’s overheated face. “If you throw up, I’ll just bill the Bureau for incidentals,” he quipped before closing the door. Olivia wished she could say something back, but talking was far too involved for what she was capable of at that moment. She watched Charlie melt into the sea of New Yorkers and eventually disappear up the steps to Massive Dynamic.

As soon he was out of sight she grabbed Walter’s orange medicine bottle from her pocket, palming three pills into her hand and shoving them into her mouth. She leaned back against the headrest and waited to feel normal again. She took a few more deep breaths and the dread began to seep away as the world started to come into better focus. There were people everywhere and she watched them lazily for a while, tracking them coming into one frame of her focus and suddenly disappearing an instant later. Something about that concerned her, but Walter’s medication was allowing her to feel slightly more relaxed about it.

Across the street, something peculiar caught her eye. Standing still against the hurrying crowds. The scruffy hair and navy pea coat, collar upturned against the wind. She couldn’t see his face but she knew that posture, hunched slightly like he was wound and ready to attack. Although his back was to her, she knew what the lines and angles of his body looked like, even though she didn’t know who he was. He stood there, letting everyone break against him like he was a rock parting the coming waters. She strained to see him better.

He turned to let her.

Olivia lurched forward when the man turned and she could see his face clearly. The distinct shadow cutting down his forehead, the clear blue eyes, the soft cut of his jaw, his hands tucked into the pockets, and she just _knew_ he was looking at her.

There was a sudden eruption in the crowd and a woman screamed as a man Olivia hadn’t noticed before broke through the sea of bodies, a woman’s purse gripped tightly in his hand. The purse snatcher looked like he was about to collide with the man in the pea coat, but the thief fled through him like he was made of air.  The man faded away and was gone.

_No._   

Olivia had one foot out the door before she truly thought it through. 

“HEY!” she yelled but the man already had a good head start on her, the woman he left behind screaming bloody murder and Olivia took off to chase him.  She quickly dove into the crowd, trying to find the spot where the man in the pea coat had disappeared, feeling the sun on her face even through it was still too cold out to take the bite off the chill in the air.

“Are you a cop!?” the screaming woman clamored when she saw Olivia’s shield pinned neatly to her lapel. “GET HIM!” she commanded and pointed Olivia in the direction where the thief had taken off.

Olivia followed in pursuit, not at all caring about the stolen purse but wanting the answers she knew the thief could provide. He must have seen the man in the pea coat; he ran straight _into_ him.  Straight _through_ him.

“Stop!” Olivia shouted when she turned the corner leading into the alley, the walls covered by intricate graffiti murals in vivid colors and the smell of chemicals bleaching the air and burning her lungs as she ran. She could see the tan of the purse dangling from the hand of the man as he ran, and he was fast, but Olivia was faster.

“Stop! FBI!” she shouted again and the man looked back with a face that spelled terror when he saw Olivia pounding down on him like a charging bull and he finally came to a grinding halt, hands cautiously held out in front of him. A few more stretching yards and Olivia crashed into him, knocking the purse to the ground and pushing him hard into the brick of the building. The guy was shorter than she was, young too. Probably not out of high school yet.

“Did you see him?” Olivia shouted into his face. The kid was flattened against the wall with his mouth open in shock, Olivia’s forearm pushing into his throat. Crushing it.

“What?” the kid managed, voice breaking.

“The man! You ran straight through him. He was wearing a pea coat. Dark hair.” Olivia’s face felt ludicrously hot, her body coiled angrily.

“I’m sorry I took it! I’m sorry!” the kid suddenly heaved. “Take it! It’s right there!”

“THE MAN! DID YOU SEE HIM?”

“I didn’t see anyone, I swear! I’m sorry! Don’t arrest me, please!” The kid started dribbling saliva and Olivia finally realized what she was doing, seeing the kid’s red eyes and snotty nose and hearing his wet heaves as he begged. She felt like she had been stretched thin and then suddenly snapped back. She quickly took her arm off his throat and stumbled backward.

“Get out of here,” she mumbled and the kid didn’t need any more encouragement before he shuffled quickly down the rest of the alley and around the corner. Olivia felt hot, her head pounding as lights twinkled soundlessly from nowhere. She brushed her hair back and scrubbed at her face, trying to put together what the hell had just come over her.

When she finally opened her eyes she stared at the heavily graffitied wall above her adorned with spray-painted images and icons, and she felt something…shift.

She was staring at a picture of Vincent Van Gogh, with _to sleep perchance to dream_ scrawled out in neon lettering across the top when it happened. Her body shifted hard to the right again and left her mind where it stood.

“Olivia?” a gravelly voice said behind her. She turned and opened her eyes.

She now knew Charlie was the shape shifter: she’d seen his reconstructed image flash callously on the screen of her cell phone just moments ago.  Charlie had been dead all along, and she’d never even noticed.

It stood not two feet away from her, same dark hair and eyes, the pull of his mouth and the same suit Charlie wore. It was wearing Charlie’s clothes. It fueled Olivia with a blackness and an anger that made her feel deeply violent. She reached for her gun.

The shape shifter reacted.

“Whoa,” he said and pushed aside his coat to put a hand on his own gun as he put a hand up to distance them. “What the hell are you doing?”

Hearing Charlie’s voice grated on her skin and she could have screamed in rage. She pulled the gun from her holster and took aim, squaring her target right on Charlie’s forehead.

“Step back!” Olivia shouted over the gun, taking steps back from where the shape shifter stood, mouth gaping open. “I’m warning you. What did you do to him? To Charlie?” she growled. The shape shifter gave her an odd look and raised both hands in the air when Olivia clicked the safety off.

“Listen to my voice Olivia. It’s me.” Charlie said, eyes darting between Olivia and the gun trained on him. Tears stung Olivia’s eyes and she bared her teeth.  Her finger felt hot over the trigger, it felt solid and smooth and it felt like vindication. Charlie took a step closer.

She pulled the trigger.

The shot erupted high into the air but the shape shifter was able to duck out of the path and Olivia fell hard onto the wet pavement when Charlie tackled her, the gun clattering just out of reach. They fell with a popping noise and Olivia felt the wind leave her lungs.

“Olivia!” the shape shifter roared in Charlie’s voice, and her anger seared; she wrenched a hand free from his grip to land a hard punch to the side of his jaw and felt satisfaction when his grip loosened enough for her to kick out from under his reach. She felt the bite against her knees and the sting in her palms as she scrambled, her knuckles burning under the skin where they made contact. She dove for her gun but the world started to spin around her and it was near debilitating, and she faltered. It was hot and white and was reaching up through her spine and she knew she was close to blacking out, stomach turning and head splitting open. She fought against it even as the colors faded because if she didn’t get her gun she was dead.

“It’s me!” the shape shifter shouted as the thing with Charlie’s face stood up, brow wet with sweat and suit dirty and wrinkled and Olivia took a shaky breath.

 “You’re not,” she hissed. The shape shifter didn’t try to pull his own gun out. She could see it still on his hip. Olivia thought of the first time she’d met Charlie, pink-faced and terrified right before the raid. She was never going to see him again.  She would never get him back. Spots of color started to pop in her vision and she suddenly couldn’t take a breath deep enough to get any air into her lungs.

Olivia pulled the trigger right before she felt the darkness reach for her, the gunshot sounding a million miles away as she was swallowed by it whole.


	6. Breaking Down

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Olivia refused to answer, intent on sitting stone cold and unmoving in her seat. When she saw that silence wouldn’t help, she begrudgingly answered.

“I know why I’ve been asked to come,” she finally retorted.

“Why do you believe you’ve been asked to come see me?”

Olivia’s sigh echoed in the small room. She shifted on the too-comfortable leather chair and tried to pull the edges of her blazer straight. She narrowed her eyes at the petite woman with the short curly hair seated across from her in the same comfortable chair. All starched white shirt and shoulder pads. Olivia didn’t like her.

The woman was middle aged, her suit a powdery grey color that matched her eyes. She crossed her legs and laid down the blue folder file she was studying, giving Olivia her undivided attention.

“You’ve rescheduled this meeting several times, Ms. Dunham,” Dr. Anderson said. “The FBI has comprehensive mental heath services available to agents who work in...extreme conditions.”

“No offense, but you don’t have the clearance to evaluate what kind of conditions I work in,” Olivia said as she dug her nails into the arms of the leather. “And are these _services_ always mandatory?”

Dr. Anderson smiled tightly, the crinkles deepening around her eyes.

“Sometimes, yes. If we feel it’s warranted. And despite what you think, I’ve been apprised of the incident, Olivia…may I call you Olivia?” Dr. Anderson asked as she put pen to paper she pulled from the file and waited for Olivia to shrug. “Needless to say, it has caused…concerns among your colleagues.”

Olivia shifted. “It was an accident.”

Dr. Anderson took in Olivia’s rigid posture and closed the blue folder again, clasping her hands together with the seriousness of a black widow about to eat its prey. “You had an acute psychiatric reaction to a drug called Risperidone.  Do you understand what that is?”

Olivia didn’t answer, so Shoulder Pads answered for her.

“It’s a powerful antipsychotic. Used commonly to treat patients suffering from the effects of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Because of the nature of the work you do, you have waivers in your personnel file that allow non-standard drug usage.  However, Risperidone is not listed as one of those approved substances. Now, glossing over the fact that a federal agent has been taking a highly regulated and unprescribed medication…” Olivia opened her mouth to interject but Dr. Anderson waved her off. “I’m not interested in the _how,_ Olivia. I’m interested in the _why._ I want to explore the underlying cause so that I can be of some service to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. You don’t appear to be psychotic or suffering from schizophrenia, so I’m wondering why you felt the need to take this medication, and why it resulted in such an adverse reaction.”

Olivia’s frown deepened.

“Would you like to talk about your partner?” Anderson prodded. “The one you lost?”

“Agent Scott?”

“No, Agent Francis,” Dr. Anderson corrected, and Olivia felt the punch to her lungs. She chewed a long time on the inside of her cheek and tried to hide the fact she was suddenly overwhelmed.

Olivia’s memory flickered to the image of Charlie’s shape shifter with the hole oozing mercury between its eyes, laying dead in the alley where it had nearly beaten her to death. That day had been listed as his official date of death, since no one knew how long the shape shifter had been assuming his identity and they never did find his body.

“This summer would be, what? Two years?” Dr. Anderson skimmed through her notes as she slipped on a pair of silver wire-framed glasses.

Olivia swallowed hard. “One year, nine months and four days,” she answered dryly.

“It was suggested that you see a professional for counseling then, when Agent Francis died. But you declined.”

“I was busy,” Olivia answered.

“And it was suggested once again when you took an…unanticipated leave from the FBI last year. You did meet with a psychiatrist at that time.”

Olivia’s entire chest tightened. Thoughts and flashing images of being _over there_ almost sent her into a panic; just like they always did. She didn’t let herself blink. She concentrated on breathing evenly, but she felt the rage boiling.

“That’s classified information,” Olivia said.

“Your leave of absence isn’t though,” Anderson retorted. “I’m not here to lecture you, Agent Dunham. I need to assess your mental state and determine if the nature of your experiences are impairing your ability to perform your job duties.”

Olivia took an overly-even breath. She was fucked.

“Are you seeing anybody?” Anderson asked politely.

“No.”

“Not since John Scott?”

Olivia glared into the silence.

Dr. Anderson continued tapping her file with a persistent finger. Apparently it held everything that had to do with all facets of Olivia’s life.

“Not since him, no.” Olivia finally admitted.

“Your relationship with this Dr. Bishop,” the older woman continued when Olivia didn’t object, “I’ve read that you retrieved him from a mental institution?”

“Yes,” Olivia said.

“After seventeen years of incarceration.”

Olivia sighed and looked around the office. It was bright and intentionally cheerful, the walls neatly decorated in certificates and nondescript abstract art that was designed to be inoffensive. She didn’t like it.

“Yes.”

“Describe your relationship with Dr. Bishop.”

Olivia furrowed her brow. “He assists me with ongoing criminal investigations.” It was the only edge she’d yield.

“Dr. Bishop has quite the reputation. PhD. Brilliant scientist. Biochemist. Harvard educated, and did his postgraduate work at Cambridge…”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. Dr. Anderson smoothed the front of her starched shirt. Not that it needed it.

“I defended my doctorial thesis at Cambridge. Dr. Bishop was somewhat of a celebrity. Even in my time,” Anderson said and opened a new file, flipping through sheets of pages Olivia couldn’t see.

Suddenly there was a flicker in the lighting, a quick glimmer, and Olivia saw the faded image of the man appear, standing over the woman’s shoulder, but he was gone in the span of time it took Olivia to blink. It was followed with the ripples of a migraine.

“Everything okay?” Dr. Anderson asked.

“Dr. Bishop was institutionalized at St. Claire’s after a lab fire killed his assistant. He was arrested for manslaughter but never charged,” Olivia answered. 

“After the death of his son,” Anderson supplied.

Olivia shrugged. “That was several months earlier. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

 

 

Dr. Anderson flipped the pages hidden in the manila folder before closing it to rest on the table beside her.

“What else does it say in there?” Olivia asked. Anderson looked pointedly at her.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Well, why don’t you go ahead and liberate yourself because I’m here now, so I kinda feel like I deserve the truth, don’t you?” The words came out faster than Olivia could think them and the feeling of déjà vu was so strong that it made her head spin. Everything became a bit muddled. 

“Headache?” Anderson’s voice said.

“Been happening more often.” Olivia took a deep breath. “It’ll pass.”

“Do you find that you have them more often under times of stress?”

Something shut off in Olivia; she clenched her jaw and tried to pinch the pain from the bridge of her nose. She didn’t answer. Dr. Anderson looked at her for several seconds before nodding and writing a note in the manila folder again.

Olivia inhaled as something suddenly caught her attention.

“Did you just change your glasses?” she asked. Dr. Anderson adjusted the tortoise shell frames on her nose and made an impatient face.

“No,” Anderson said, but Olivia interrupted her. “No, I’m positive. You had silver wire frames on before.” Olivia felt hot, her face flushed. Everything felt different; the room was a slightly different color, the indistinct art unfamiliar to her now. Olivia felt panicked.

“Has your relationship with Dr. Bishop ever been of a sexual nature?”

Olivia choked when she heard the question and the migraine flared.

“No,” Olivia’s voice rose, “was yours?” she retorted angrily.

Dr. Anderson’s mouth set firmly; her lips a tight line on her bland face. 

“How long ago did you last see your stepfather?”

“Over twenty years. When I killed him.”

“At age nine,” Dr. Anderson continued. Olivia nodded, heart still pounding in her ears from the off-kilter sensations and the insane line of questions.

“It’s all in my file,” Olivia nodded towards the stack resting on top the manila folder the woman was holding. “Why am I being asked all these questions you already know the answers to?”

Dr. Anderson’s eyes narrowed. A few seconds ticked by.

“What’s concerning is that you’re obviously in a vulnerable state since the death of your partner John Scott, with whom you were having an illicit relationship. I’m concerned that you may now be projecting some unhealthy romantic and paternal fixations onto a man who has been confined to a mental institution for nearly two decades, and feeding into his deluded sense of grandeur. And now, years later, you get power of attorney and he’s remanded to your custody to assist you in classified government investigations? You don’t see that as something I might find concerning? Your relationship with your father—“

Something flickered in the air and Olivia blinked.

“I have no relationship with my father,” Olivia said as she felt the hair on her arms stand on end. “He’s dead. As is my stepfather. It’s hard to have a relationship with dead men.”

“Now Olivia,” Anderson started.

“—No offence, Dr. Anderson, but it’s Agent Dunham. And you can’t begin to tell me what I’m suffering from by a single cursory office visit and a stroll through my private files.” Olivia’s voice was calm as the ocean about to swallow the shore.

Dr. Anderson’s brow furrowed. Olivia felt the snarl grow on her face.

“My relationship with Dr. Bishop is solely a professional one, and since the state has no issues about his mental status while in my care, it shouldn’t have any bearing on whether or not I’m cleared to work cases with him. And quite frankly, you’re not my psychiatrist and I don’t report to you—”

Dr. Anderson interrupted her.  “That’s not true.  We’ve met before, Agent Dunham. Last year, after you returned from your leave of absence. Don’t you remember?”

There was a hiss as Olivia’s throat closed up.

“We were in this very office, you sat right there in that same seat, and we worked together for weeks. You were suffering short-term memory loss from severe head trauma, and had adopted a set of false memories while healing from the trauma. Do you remember that?”

Olivia felt the pain behind her temples erupt. Bits and pieces of sensations came fluttering back; sitting in the chair, the familiarity of the room, the comfortable temperature, the soothing voice.  How could she have forgotten?  She couldn’t make sense of it.

“No,” Olivia answered honestly, at a loss.

Anderson looked sufficiently pained before slipping on her tortoise shell glasses again and leaning back into the chair.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Though, with the neurological trauma that you sustained at the time, I can’t say that I’m surprised. An expedited request was put in specifically for you to meet with me today. So I’m glad you came, Olivia, especially given that you don’t remember our previous sessions.

“Who put in the request?” Olivia asked.

“Your superior, Agent Broyles mandated it at the urging of your partner…” she skimmed the page for a name, “ah, Agent Charlie Frances. He made the request yesterday, based on the incident he says he experienced with you in the field this week.”

Olivia felt like she was upside down in a sinking ship. Gravity felt off; her feet no longer connected to the ground.

The man with the blue eyes reappeared just then, staring dangerously at her from over Anderson’s left shoulder.  Olivia refused to acknowledge him. 


	7. The Lonely Sheperd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep getting asked "Where is Peter Bishop?"
> 
> And my response is always, "Who?"

Olivia adjusted the slope of the nose on the facial recognition program, widening the nostrils and shortening the bridge. The image of the man stared back at her, unimpressed. She angled the jaw and played with different eye colors, none of them really matching what she remembered and the process of trying to construct a ghost’s face was frustrating. The bustle of the federal building was only white noise as she dredged through the haze of no sleep to try to get his forehead just right. Finally she was satisfied with the image the computer screen blinked back at her. She could almost imagine the smirk radiating off of him.

“Who are you?” she murmured as she stared at the image like it might jar some ancient memory loose.

“Olivia,” a voice said and she jumped. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Heya Charlie,” Olivia said as she tried to look nonchalant and clicked _send_ to filter the image through Federal and Interpol facial recognition databases.

“How are you doing?” Charlie asked as he pulled up a chair next to her. Olivia tried to smooth back the hair that was clinging fiercely to her face.

“Fine,” she answered.

He stood awkwardly for a few moments, hesitating before finally sitting down. “Cat’s outta the bag, I see. How bad is it?”

Olivia’s frown was lopsided, her lips chapped. “Suspended until I fulfill mandatory psych sessions and they deem me fit to return to duty.”

She heard Charlie’s grumble of a sigh.

“I’m not going to apologize for it, you know. As pissed as you probably are,” he said. “You know why I did it, right?” Charlie tried to avoid her glare by skimming around the office, watching other agents scurry by.

“I know,” Olivia answered. She felt the heat creep to her face looking at her partner. “ _I know,”_ she said again, a bit more kindly. _“_ What I did was unforgivable. I can’t imagine what would have happened if—”

“—but it didn’t,” Charlie reiterated. “You’ve always been a terrible shot.”

Olivia quashed the urge to laugh like a maniac. She didn’t feel like laughing.

“You looked at me like you didn’t know me. Like I was going to hurt you. What _was_ that?” Charlie asked seriously. 

Olivia didn’t know how to explain it. “I don’t know,” was the most honest answer.

“Have you slept?” Charlie asked as he read her face. She hated that he could. She tried to mentally assess how she might look and decided it probably wasn’t a point worth arguing.

“Not in the traditional sense, no,” Olivia said but it didn’t amuse Charlie. “Not well,” she added.

“Listen Charlie, I know you had every right to report me, I can’t imagine…” she trailed off when saying the words became too painful. “But I just wish you would have given me a head’s up before going to Broyles,” Olivia started to collect the scattered papers out of the way of Charlie’s prying eyes.

Charlie leaned heavily onto the desk. “You didn’t leave me much choice, Liv. You _tried_ to shoot me. Twice,” he let that hang in the air. “Then you…were gone. You ate the pavement like you were made of bricks. You stopped breathing for a couple of minutes. You almost shot me, and I was the one scared out of my mind for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to worry about me Charlie,” Olivia snapped. “I just need you to trust me that I can do my job.”

“Something is going on with you,” Charlie leaned close to avoid the glances of other agents. “And that’s fine if you’re not going to talk to me, but you need to talk to someone. You’re not safe out in the field. What if it wasn’t me out there that you shot at? What if you’d killed a civilian? What if I hadn’t found you when I did? You could have died Olivia, and you don’t seem the least bit concerned about that.”

Olivia sulked angrily. She picked up a pen and held it tightly in her hand. It was something else to look at besides Charlie.

“I know that you don’t like that I went to Broyles,” Charlie continued, “but frankly I don’t give a damn. If I thought it would help I’d do it again. And I didn’t tell Broyles about what _really_ happened. About the discharge. He didn’t look particularly convinced but he let me dance around the truth. And I did it because I don’t know what’s happening to you, and you’re too stubborn to tell me.”

And if that didn’t sting enough, he added, “You don’t get to choose who cares about you, Liv.”

Seconds ticked by as Olivia absorbed his frustration. She stared at the man’s image on the screen, his face flickering in and out as the software tried to match him to the millions of male faces compiled in the databases. She already knew the search would come back negative. And it would take hours, if not days, of endless waiting.

For a long moment the only noises were the muted sounds of agents in the FBI building rustling around, and a phone ringing in the distance. _How did I get here?_ Olivia thought to herself.

“I’m seeing things,” Olivia whispered, and Charlie for his part didn’t look surprised, his face neutral. “When I was over there, in the other universe, I saw them too.”

She was relieved when Charlie didn’t laugh straight in her face.

“What kinds of things?” he asked instead. Olivia tried to piece together what she wanted to say.

“Things change around me, like I blink my eyes and everything’s just a little bit different and no one else notices it but me. I’m dreaming and I can’t tell if I’m awake or not.”

Charlie waited.

“And there’s a man.”

“A man.”

Olivia gave him a sour face before continuing. “I saw him over there too. Same guy.  Watching. Sometimes he talks to me. I couldn’t remember him that clearly before, but now he’s hiding in the shadows everywhere.”

“Is he good looking?” Charlie asked suddenly. Olivia’s mouth turned into a flat line.

“Charlie…” she complained, feeling the flush bleeding into her cheeks again.

Charlie made an expression that bordered on amusement before going back to neutral.

“Let me get this straight. You’re imagining the same non-existent man that you saw when you were trapped in the alternate universe and brainwashed by people who are alternate versions of us?”

He paused.

“I can’t believe I’m saying that out loud,” Charlie said.

“And neither one of us thinks you’re crazy,” Olivia added. A feeling of déjà vu hit her again and it wasn’t funny anymore.

“What did the Mad Scientist have to say about why you were seeing him over there?” Charlie asked.

Olivia gripped the pen again. “Something about him being a hallucination, a byproduct of the Cortexiphan they were experimenting on me with, and my subconscious letting me know I was… _displaced,_ ” she said sarcastically.

Charlie looked hard at her, deep in thought. “And you’re now concerned that you’re in the wrong place again?” he said very seriously.

“Tell me I’m crazy,” Olivia replied fervently. Charlie didn’t, of course. “Something’s _wrong_ Charlie. I’m experiencing things that other people aren’t. Just me.”

Charlie leaned back.

“Okay,” Charlie said. “You said you were injected with Cortexiphan while you were over there right? But it’s been over a year since that stuff was last in your system.  Whatever psychedelics Bishop just forced you to take last week didn’t include that Cortexiphan shit he created in some crockpot in the 70’s, so you shouldn’t be hallucinating this guy now, right?”

Olivia deflated. She hadn’t thought about that. The Risperidone Walter had given her was the only drug she’d taken recently.

“Walter didn’t force me to take it,” Olivia argued, though it was pretty flat. “It was supposed to help.” She continued to watch the images flicker across the screen.

“Well, let me just send him a Christmas card thanking him,” Charlie stewed, remembering the utter lack of recognition on her face as she pulled the trigger.

“Could it be John?” Charlie said suddenly, and she could hear the words physically paining him.

“It’s not John,” Olivia snorted as she stared at the screen.

“Okay, maybe one of John’s contacts? When you were hooked up to him, or whatever, you got some of his memories, right? Could this be someone from John’s past? Maybe something got knocked loose when you were on Walter’s pills?”

Olivia hadn’t considered that. She quirked her eyebrow and looked at Charlie, who for his part, looked as uncomfortable as if he’d asked her to do the chicken dance.

Olivia felt her heart pound as she reached for her phone. It’d been turned off.

“Thanks Charlie,” she said as she got out of the chair, thumb already dialing the number.

“You really have a thing for impossible men, don’tcha kiddo?” Charlie called after her, but she barely heard him.

“Astrid, it’s me,” she said into the receiver. “Get Walter.” 


	8. The Man Who Found the Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A two for one sorta day.

Walter had rechecked the results twice more before admitting the evidence was irrefutable. Olivia had been dosed with Cortexiphan, and according to the levels, it had happened recently.

There was something about the word _Cortexiphan_ that made Walter’s hairs stand on end. Where once it signified infinite opportunity and scientific advancement the likes of which the world had never seen, with everything Olivia had been through over the last year it was now a stark reminder of every monstrosity he had ever performed in the name of science.

For the last two days Walter’s hand had trembled without relief. He hadn’t seen Olivia in days and his anxiety was bordering on panic, so Astrid finally broke down and told him why. Astrid had threatened him with bodily harm if he told anyone that Olivia had been required to see a psychiatrist and wouldn’t return to active duty.

Walter wouldn’t dare breathe a word.

He shared a mutual hatred of the psychiatric profession; being told if one was deemed fit for life or work was terrifying and embarrassing. He merely wanted to help. For the last few months he felt as though his mind was racing for an answer that he couldn’t remember the question to. David Bowie played on repeat in his head, looping endlessly, and while he knew it was signifying something, he couldn’t remember what.

Walter tore around the lab in search of the perfect record to play, something that would help put his mind at ease and allow him to continue the work he needed to complete in order to help Olivia.

“Astro!” he shouted as he pulled out another stack of records and a box labeled _Trinkets_ that he didn’t bother to open. Walter’s agitation was beginning to overwhelm his ability to think, and it became quite important that he find what he was looking for. He didn’t have time to waste.

It took another two angry shouts and the impending threat of shattered glass before Astrid came running into the lab.

“Walter, what is it?”

Then she saw the mess.

But it didn’t matter anymore; Walter had found the turntable neatly tucked beside a box of his son’s old keepsakes that he pushed hastily back behind the rest of the dusty boxes containing old research notebooks.

“AH HA!” Walter shouted as he tried to hoist the record player over his head in triumph. Astrid had to help him get the turntable onto a clean counter space, which wasn’t easy since most surfaces were now littered with forgotten belongings pulled out during Walter’s haste to find the turntable.

“This is why the lab is destroyed?” Astrid lamented as they found a suitable place to set up the ancient equipment. It smelled just as Walter remembered, and he breathed in deeply. Vinyl and wood.

“I thought you said this thing was broken?” Astrid said.

Walter already had the turntable plugged in and watched in delight as the platter spun as soon as he turned it on.

“Did I say that?” Walter asked, wiping the dust lovingly from the knobs. He was already off and tearing through the lab for the next step of his plan. He found the record he had been searching for hiding in a box marked _Peter_ he had ignored earlier. His heart stopped for a beat. He hadn’t paid any mind to that particular box in quite some time, and now it made him suddenly quite uncomfortable.

“Who’s that, Walter?” he heard Astrid ask over his shoulder and he had to resist the temptation to shove the box out of Astrid’s sight. “Peter? As in your Peter? Did those things belong to your son?” Astrid’s voice continued gently as she approached Walter. Astrid always had a calming affect on him.

“Yes,” Walter admitted when he found his voice. “I haven’t looked at his things in a very long time.”

In one hand he held the record that had been tossed inside the box containing some of his son’s old teddy bears and a moth-eaten blanket that Walter had hidden decades before, when Elizabeth had been out of her mind with grief and hell-bent on destroying all traces that their son had ever lived. With his other hand he brushed the dust gently away from the name written in his slanted script and let himself think of his son.

Astrid tipped her nose toward the box.

“Peter Bishop. My son,” he said, even though he was sure Astrid didn’t need the explanation. It was just nice to say his name again after years of neglect. “He would have been 33 years old this year. Can you believe that?” Walter said, and he felt the same wash of nostalgia come over him whenever he talked about his son.

“I’m sure he was a lovely boy,” Astrid commented with a smile. “David Bowie,” Astrid noted in surprise as she looked at the record he was holding. “This is the tune you’ve been humming that’s been driving me insane. How ‘bout that? It was here all along.”

Her footsteps clicked on the linoleum as she took the record carefully from Walter’s hand and placed it on the turntable.

For reasons Walter couldn’t understand he felt the loss of the record so deeply in his chest that it pained him, which was silly, he rationalized, because it was only a record.

“Thank you, Peter,” Astrid said airily as she lightly placed the needle on the record’s grooves. There was something about the way she said his son’s name that brought Walter to tears for the first time in years. He quickly hid the evidence in the crook of his elbow before Astrid noticed.

 


	9. Whisper

Astrid was chopping away when Olivia entered into the lab. The rhythmic _thum-thum-thum_ countered the endless loop of music that had been playing for the last three hours.

“Olivia,” Astrid exclaimed as Olivia took off her jacket and approached. Olivia’s face pinched when she saw and smelled what Astrid was busying herself with.

“Are those—” Olivia started, disgusted.

“Experiment. Black worms that Walter requested,” Astrid explained as she tried to wipe the still-wriggling remnants of worm du jour off her knife. “It’s for you. To help sharpen your memory,” she added and Olivia’s face turned from sour to sick.

“Agent Dunham!” Walter exclaimed just then as he emerged from the back office he used as his makeshift bedroom. “So nice to see you! How are you feeling, dear?” he asked in an overly pleasant tone and Olivia physically shriveled.

“Who told you?” Olivia said to Astrid, deflated.

“Broyles called me,” Astrid said by way of apology.

Olivia stepped out of the shuffling path of Walter’s “concern” and stood awkwardly beside Astrid.

“You should have told me,” Walter said, hands stuffed into his pockets. “The Risperidone was far too potent to take in the dosage you did, Agent Dunham. And there’s no way to predict what the side effects of interacting with Cortexiphan would—”

Olivia’s surprised face stopped Walter from continuing.

“Oh, have I not mentioned?” Walter said, confused. Astrid gave him an exasperated look and continued chopping.

Olivia blinked a few times.  “No, Walter, you haven’t mentioned. Cortexiphan?”

“The analysis we ran on your hair and blood work came back. You tested positive for recent exposure to Cortexiphan in your system.”

Olivia leaned hard on her arms, the smell of the worms suddenly overwhelming.

“How?” she said, staring at one particular fat worm and felt like she’d been punched. “How it that possible?”

Astrid scooped the worm bits and put them into a food processor, trying to blend back into the background. She switched the mixer on and it whirled noisily.

“I don’t know.  I have no explanation,” Walter said as Olivia starred incredulously at the concoction that Astrid was now mixing with fruit.

“Is it possible it’s still there from a year ago? she asked.  “I thought you said it was all burned out of my system, Walter.” she said, anger rising.

“No. It’s more recent than that.  Likely within the last two weeks,” he responded.

He started to approach her. “May I?” he asked to Olivia’s turned neck. She didn’t respond right away, but finally moved her ponytail to one side.

Walter’s fingers were warm as they pushed through the hair at the nape of her neck. When his thumb grazed a particular spot at the base of her skull she cringed, the small swell of pain tingling.

“Interesting,” Walter mused as Olivia clamped a hand over the spot where he’d looked.

“What?” Olivia said. Walter didn’t answer and started to walk the same path around the lab he usually did whenever he was deep in thought.

Walter never returned to the thought. Or, if he did, it wasn’t out loud. Much to Olivia’s irritation.

“I made a terrible miscalculation giving you the Risperidone,” Walter switched tack and grumbled as he crossed over the linoleum, hand on his downturned mouth.

Olivia couldn’t bear to hear it. “Walter, it was a mistake. Simple as that. I’m fine.”

“You’re reinstated then?” Walter asked expectantly, and Olivia’s face became cryptic. She turned her attention back to the cutting board where Astrid was working. “Oh,” Walter said, reading into her lack of an answer.

“You said on the phone that you’re still seeing this man, this…hallucination,” Walter mused, and began ticking off questions on his fingers. “Could you still be experiencing Agent Scott’s memories?  Could this man be someone from Agent Scott’s past? What is Agent Scott’s relationship to this man? Is there anything _you_ remember, something that might indicate who he might be or could have been?” Walter asked.

Olivia felt her skin burn, the flush rising to her face.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her throat constricted.

“Is he a colleague, or a friend perhaps? Someone Agent Scott had been in contact with before his death? How did the relationship _feel?”_

Olivia looked from Walter’s eager face to Astrid’s back. She remembered the feeling of the man’s hands, the scruff of his jaw. The stretch of his….ahem.

“What connection does this have with the Cortexiphan?” she asked awkwardly.

Walter shot off like a rubber band. “It might establish the timetable of events you’re experiencing. The Cortexiphan, because it’s in your system, has possibly enabled you to perceive things that you couldn’t before. This might be the rationale for some of your erratic behaviors… perhaps you’re perceiving things that already happened in Agent Scott’s memory.”

Olivia laid her forehead into her hand.

“No.  It’s not one of John’s contacts,” Olivia answered bluntly and both Astrid and Walter stopped what they were doing to look at her.

“But Agent Dunham, you do not _know_ everything that Agent Scott experienced. Maybe you’re unearthing something we didn’t uncover the first time, before we purged John from your consciousness”

“It’s not John’s memory,” Olivia continued, trying to keep the heat from her face. She chose her words carefully. “The relationship was…personal.”

Walter’s face was a giant question mark, but Astrid’s eyebrows jumped into the curls on her head.

“I don’t understand,” Walter admitted, but Astrid’s eyes became wide as she caught on.

“This relationship with the man—” Olivia’s speech was as even as she could muster. “It’s like he knows me, personally.”

“It could seem that way, yes, Agent Dunham. It may feel very immediate and firsthand but—”

“It’s _intimate_ ” Olivia interrupted. There was a momentary pause while Astrid leaned in to whisper in Walter’s ear, and Olivia wanted to find a hole large enough to crawl into and die. Walter’s face blew wide in surprise and his mouth formed a perfect O.

“Oh,” he said and then added, “oh, I see,” as he finally understood what Olivia was embarrassingly trying to explain to him. “That’s a variable I hadn’t thought of. Yes, that changes things.” Walter began shuffling again, eyes closed and fingers pinching an invisible stick of chalk, trying to work through a new formula as Olivia watched and stewed in embarrassment.

“Astrid, would you please?” he called and there was a scratch before Bowie erupted across the silence again, singing about dying a long, long time ago.

“He’s been obsessed with it,” Astrid explained as she turned it up.

Walter continued to sway, humming and punching his fingers on a particular guitar riff and Olivia couldn’t watch the performance any longer.

“Walter, the Cortexiphan. Do you think _they_ could be behind it?” Walter stopped and Olivia almost expected the record to scratch to a halt like it did in the movies. But it didn’t. It continued to play in perfect rhythm to Walter’s madness.

“They would need access to you,” Walter said. “Need access to Cortexiphan. But I don’t see the purpose of dosing you now. With the treaty, and with the machine already turned on, it would be unadvisable,” Walter mumbled as he squeezed his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking.

“Astro,” Walter shouted, but Astrid was already on the phone.

“I’ll call Broyles and see if anyone from the other side has crossed the Bridge within the last two weeks,” she said, already heading into one of the back offices.

Olivia listened to the song playing in the background, the warbled tune that Walter played too often and although it was familiar, she didn’t really recognize it.

“It was in a box that belonged to my son,” Walter said into Olivia’s thoughtful silence. “It was quite serendipitous. The song’s been stuck in my mind for quite some time, although I hadn’t thought about _him_ for longer than I care to admit. And there it was. Funny how things work out like that.”

Olivia’s face warmed. “You never talk about your son,” she commented. Walter’s face appeared a little less strained, but his shoulders still sloped like the world was crushing him.

“It’s a difficult thing for a father to discuss,” Walter’s explanation was as cautious as the wind. “You wouldn’t believe what a father would do for his child.”

Olivia’s smile faded.

“I am quite fond of you, Ms Dunham. I hope you believe that.” Olivia felt slightly uncomfortable when Walter’s warm hand found hers and squeezed awkwardly. He patted it a few times paternally before stuffing his own hand back into his pocket.

“I know, Walter” she said anyway.

“That’s why what I’m going to suggest is going to be very difficult for me,” Walter continued. Olivia felt his unease in the way he chose his words.

“Does it have to do with the worms?” she asked solemnly.

Walter’s face had a ghost of a smile, but paired with his sad eyes it made him look distraught.

“I’m afraid not anymore, dear,” Walter said. “I’m afraid it’s much worse than worms.” 


	10. The Man Who Sold the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And back into the tank we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is massive. Even more sorry to the person having to edit the massiveness into something intelligible. Chapter title brought to you from David Bowie. Which, if you don't notice, is a big part of this chapter and the story as a whole.

Olivia was glad that she was officially suspended from active duty for the first time since she’d been reassigned to inactive status. She stood in nothing but Walter’s borrowed ratty bathrobe and not much else, feet chilled against the ancient floor, looking flatly at the rust coating the heavy doors of the tank. The smell of salt hung in the air.

She’d effectively avoided the tank since she’d returned back to this world; her last memory was crawling out of it half dead when she used it to cross back home. Seeing it standing there so benignly now did not bring up reassuring feelings.

She still remembered the reverberating gunfire as the alternate Broyles died outside the tank, shot by his own men for helping her escape after he’d snuck her into the lab. Their echoes followed her in the darkness. It was an angry sound; the clack of tumultuous thunder that made her chest vibrate.

She’d seen his body after she was discharged from the hospital, at least what remained of it. His notable absence from their treaty negotiations pained her still. She still wasn’t sure exactly why he’d risked it all.

From that day on, Olivia swore she’d never step a toe back into the motherfucker. She wished she could torch the thing, but the lab had already gone through one fire and she wasn’t sure if Walter would approve of a second. So here she was, left with more questions than answers and only one alternative to being crazy.

“You may disrobe, dear,” Walter said in his most fatherly voice, the one he used specifically, Olivia found, when she had to be nearly naked. Olivia did as she was told without comment, ignoring the smell of weed that she wasn’t sure was coming from the robe or from Walter, and tossed it Astrid who was standing by.

“Still have that Bible, Walter?” Olivia asked when Astrid starting fixing the electrodes to her stomach.  Walter’s face turned down as he shook his head, needle in hand and looking apologetic.

“Please pull your hair aside,” he said, and then pushed the injection into the back of Olivia’s neck. It stung and Olivia hissed. “This one’s just an anesthetic.” He often talked through the steps even though Olivia had them memorized by heart. Astrid began affixing the next set of electrodes to her forehead and Olivia started to feel the cold apprehension creep in.

“Apologies,” Walter mumbled and Olivia felt the cold stab at the base of her neck, the thrill of the pain causing her to jut forward as Walter adjusted the metal probes in her neck.

“I’ve got you,” Astrid said kindly, her tiny hands firm on Olivia’s arms to keep her upright. Olivia felt a wave of euphoria and the familiar twist of images around her as she let Astrid walk her to the tank, the doors already opened.

“I never thought I’d have to go back in there,” Olivia said quietly, barely out loud. 

Astrid patted her hand gently before helping her crawl in, stepping one shaky foot at a time inside the tank. “Me either,” she admitted. Olivia felt the water swirl over her as she lay down. “I’m sorry,” was the last thing Olivia heard before Astrid closed the doors and Olivia was once again sealed in the tank to wait for what happened next.

*

First, silence.

Then the lapping of water; the heavy scent and taste of iodized salt that crept into the corners of Olivia’s mouth as she floated effortlessly in the belly of the tank and tried to rationalize the circumstances that brought her to this point.

“Olivia, can you hear me?” Walter’s voice trickled God-like through the speaker in the corner.

“Yes,” Olivia answered. She tried not to move; the water was only warm when she stayed perfectly still. She let it drift over her, clinging to the hairs on her arms and tickling her ears. It was almost soothing.

“I’ll be your tether, Olivia. Listen to the sound of my voice and my voice only. I’ll guide you safely through the dreamscape. Keep breathing deeply, let yourself drift.”

Olivia relaxed and felt the drugs begin to take effect.  She idly thought of Walter’s presence and how much he must enjoy pretending to be God in his little speaker. She giggled. 

“What do you see?” the little speaker asked.

Olivia opened her eyes.

She was still in the tank, but it wasn’t the same tank she knew she‘d started out in. She felt herself still floating in water, but it was as though she was split in two: the Olivia in her mind rising gently from the water, listening to music coming from outside. The same lyrics Walter had been playing obsessively now soaked softly into her pores, the melody heavy as fog and slightly too slow, too muted from inside the steel can. The inside of the tank was like a sauna; steam built up and the heat forced her to push open the doors that creaked when she opened them.

The lab was darkened and stripped of texture; everything angled in soft, pliable corners and void of any distinction. It was disturbing, and Olivia felt like she was stepping into a van Gogh painting. The music lingered everywhere, but still felt wrong. It was all echoes in the distance, and it made her skin crawl.  

As Olivia stepped over the lip of the tank she realized she was now clothed and dry. On closer inspection, she found she was wearing the same scrubs that she had been clothed in _over there_ and she felt the fear hitch in her chest.

She gripped her hair and could see the flash of copper stuck in her fingers.

“No,” she lurched backward, pressed against the steam bellowing out from the tank, the doors already closed.

“Olivia, it’s quite all right. What do you see? Where are you?” Walter’s voice flittered through nothingness.

Olivia’s heart fluttered wildly, and she had to close her eyes. She could still distinctly feel the water from inside the tank, felt _herself_ inside the tank and she steadied before answering.

“I’m in the lab. After I returned. I’m home,” she said out loud.

There was a split second of silence. When Walter spoke again, he sounded slightly shaky.

“Push through Olivia. What else is there?”

The more Olivia looked, the more things _changed._ The lab melted under the pressure of the music; and Olivia could see the faceless features of Walter and Astrid perched above the tank, their bodies blurred and indistinct; inhuman.

She turned her head and saw a black blob that formed a small piano in the middle of the lab. There was a man sitting at it, his back to Olivia as he played. Olivia couldn’t hear the notes over Walter’s blaring record, but she knew they would be familiar.

“Dunham. Any requests?” said the man’s voice, and he sounded miles away and unattached to the figure that sat before her. She crept closer; barefoot and enthralled.

“How ‘bout some Bach?” her own ethereal voice floated back overhead. As she approached, the man’s face was still indistinct, but his hands weren’t. His fingers were lithe and long, firm and sure across the keys of the piano. 

“Bach? No, that’s way too stuffy,” the voice-over said, “what you need is some jazz.” And his fingers moved again, and Olivia approached, hand stretched out close enough to brush the blurred cheek of the man she desperately wanted to touch.

“Well, I’ll take what I can get.”

Before she could touch him, his face twisted, perfectly in focus but horrifically disfigured. Both eyes glowed a bright white and Olivia snapped back, gasping.

*

Walter nibbled anxiously on some mini pretzels that Astrid provided, watching the flickering line of Olivia’s consciousness blip across his screen.

“Interesting,” he mused and crunched down on another pretzel, but didn’t bother to finish his thought.

“What is?” Astrid asked from his side, trying to see the same interesting thing that Walter had.

“Look here,” Walter said, sucking the salt off his fingers before pointing to the same blipping line. “What do you see?”

Astrid tilted her head. “A red line,” she answered. That garnered a disappointed cluck from Walter.

“No, you’re not looking, Agent Farnsworth. Look _here.”_

Astrid’s eyebrows jumped.

 “Two lines,” she amended. “Are they both Olivia’s?”

Walter’s mouth quivered. “No idea.”

Olivia’s blood pressure suddenly spiked on the monitor, and her gasp echoed through the speaker.  

“Olivia, what is it?” Walter asked, speaking into the microphone, feeling the tingle in his hand. He eyed Olivia’s vitals suspiciously. The two lines blinked as they trailed along the screen. One red, one yellow. Very interesting indeed.

*

Olivia was someplace new. The shock of seeing the faceless man had catapulted her through cold water and it took a moment for her to breathe in her confusion.

“Olivia, listen to me. Tell me what you see.” Walter’s voice grounded her to a solid place. She surveyed her surroundings. She knew where she was.  She stood in the makeshift room at Liberty Island that had been merged together months before.

“I’m with the machine,” she answered back, amazed how her voice echoed in the imaginary room.  There was a flicker of light that grew to reveal the outline of the machine, whirling in the distance.

“Why am I here?” Olivia said, edging closer to the machine that had been haunting her dreams since it first appeared. The floor was cold but when she looked down at her feet she found she was no longer wearing scrubs, but her worn black trench coat, shield gleaming brightly on her chest and the warmth of a scarf caressing her neck. The blurriness of the lab had worn off, the funhouse mirror gone: everything was back to normal. As normal as this could be.

“It’s somehow significant to your subconsciousness, Olivia.” Walter’s voice echoed through the space. “You must decipher its meaning.”

“That’s right, Agent Dunham,” another voice said. Olivia spun around and faced the machine where the man stood, arms outstretched and trapped in restraints. Even restrained, he had a cocky air about him. His shirt was a pale blue color and it felt so familiar to her. “This place _is_ significant. Why?” he asked, and Olivia was transfixed on his face, his eyes glowing despite the shadow that he was cast in. It was _his_ face.

“I don’t know.” Olivia answered, padding closer, suddenly aware that the man was strapped into the machine. The machine whirled. “Tell me.”

“Who are you speaking to?” Walter’s voice floated but Olivia was hesitant to answer.

“It’s him. He’s here too,” she said as the man grinned brightly at her.

“Who is?” Walter asked.

This time, Walter’s voice molded with the younger man’s, his lips mimicking Walter’s words.

“Olivia, who he is?” the man grinned as he echoed Walter’s voice.

_Why was he so infuriating?_

Olivia stood at the foot of the machine and reached her hand out to touch it. As soon as her fingers made contact it roared to life and the man’s head was thrown violently back before Olivia could snatch her hand back--the explosion erupting into the space and bathing it in an angry white light. The man let out a pained sound but it was Olivia’s head that was being split open from the inside out. It exploded. She tried to push it all back in, but the wave was too strong. She was assaulted with a steady stream tearing through her consciousness: snippets of images and sounds she couldn’t understand, steadily flashing like she was flipping through a million pictures at once.

Walter’s voice was mixed with the sudden sensory onslaught, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. The man’s face took center stage in most of the flickering images; him in the machine, bringing her a cup of coffee, arguing in the lab with Walter, walking two steps behind her at Saint Claire’s as she retrieved Walter for the first time. There were feelings too, strong and electric and running through her veins like fire: anger, fear, desire…love?...but it was so hard to pull them apart and sort through them.

_“You belong with me,”_ she recognized herself saying as she stood in a twisting memory, but it was as thin as smoke, and she was already onto the next dozen images that swam around her. It was hard to grasp onto anything.

“Olivia,” she heard Walter’s voice somewhere in the distance.

_“I care about you,”_ the man said, arms folded over his chest, Walter standing in the haze behind him looking thoughtful.

“Who are you?” Olivia tried to shout over the whirlwind but her voice was swept away.

“…You must listen to the sound of my voice…” crackled through and she could hear the fear in Walter’s voice. But everything else was too strong.

There was a moment of clarity where she could focus through the relentless barrage, the images circling around her like she was in the eye of the storm. The images parted and she watched herself walk to the machine with the man beside her, his face bruised and busted but with a look of determination winning over the dread she knew he felt. She knew this would be the last time she’d see him alive. She fought to catch up.

_“I love you,”_ she watched herself tell him. The look he gave her spoke more than words ever would. It was the look of a dead man who couldn’t say the words back.

“Don’t!” Olivia shouted to the pair of them, knowing that if he got into the machine he’d be taken away from her. The sudden clarity she’d just experienced receded, and  images and pictures that had been swirling around her crashed together and there were again thousands of images filling every neuron and fiber she had; some were hers, others she knew weren’t, _couldn’t_ be hers. The one thing she knew was that she couldn’t let him get into the machine. Not again.

“Stop him!” Olivia shouted to herself, but the blonde hair of the Olivia she was shouting to didn’t budge an inch.

“Olivia, no one can hear you,” Walter’s voice crackled. But Olivia didn’t care.  She ran, through the images, through the chaos that didn’t make sense. She had to save him.

She pushed through, hair whipping as she shoved past herself to reach for him, any part of him that she might be able to dig her fingers in. He walked steadily toward the machine, but she was almost there…

“Stop,” said the bald man who suddenly materialized before her right as she was about to latch onto the man.

The Observers frame broke through every whirling image and Olivia felt the jolt as all the air was punched from her chest. She couldn’t even draw a before she felt the first shock. Then the next. The pain was excruciating.

She watched in horror as the man climbed the steps to the machine, and her last thought was that he would be gone forever as she was thrown backward into blinding pain.


	11. Act On Impulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are people still reading this thing? I warned you it was long.

Walter listened impatiently to Olivia’s voice as she navigated through a dreamscape he wasn’t experiencing himself, and that was the most frustrating part. He’d always enjoyed the _experiencing_ firsthand. He wondered what Olivia was seeing, and what was happening now that she’d glimpsed the man who’d been haunting her life. He sat back, thinking about his own experiences in the tank, and how real the dreamscapes always seemed.  It was always a comforting experience for him each time he went into the tank, but he knew it could never be so for Olivia. 

That he couldn’t offer her any other solution that didn’t involve using the confounded tank was a nagging aggravation that weighed on him. But he could think of no alternative to try to solve the problem of Olivia’s apparent psychosis other than to use the tank to try to clear the troublesome lingering traces of her time spent _over there_.  Besides, the sooner Olivia’s mind was set at ease, he rationalized, the sooner he’d be able to get back to the comforting routine of Fringe cases.

 _“Don’t!”_ Olivia’s voice suddenly roared through the speaker, exploding along with the lines on the heart monitor that were spiking dangerously. Walter stopped short, the last remnants of the pretzel crumbs spilling from his fingers as he dropped the bag he had been readily working through. The brain scan’s red line now blipped almost perfectly in sync with the yellow, dancing in tandem along the monitor.

 _“Stop him!”_  Olivia shouted, her fear hissing audibly out of the speaker.

“Olivia,” Walter said into the microphone, sucking the salt from his teeth, “no one can hear you” he reminded her, using the calmest voice he could muster.  Astrid leaned close over his shoulder and examined the same burst he was concerned about, her finger tracing the now single contour that only moments before had been two separate lines. _She’s really quite intelligent,_ Walter thought approvingly, but there wasn’t any time to linger on that thought because Olivia’s readings jumped rapidly again, and he saw from the small camera inside the tank that they were corresponding to Olivia’s now erratic movements.

Then all movement stopped, and the activity on the monitor did as well. Walter watched in drained horror as the readings went from a wild flash of hectic patterns to a flat, straight line, the echoing beep a blade on Walter’s skin. The steady alert sound was the only noise that filled the lab.

“What’s happening?” Astrid asked but Walter was already on the move, side-stepping Astrid to reach the cart that housed his _Just in Case_ case.

“Her heart’s stopped,” Walter’s voice was brusque, and he was already halfway down the stairs to the tank. “Bring the defibrillator, if you please,” he added, and there was a chill in his words but no time to succumb to emotion. Astrid stood frozen for a moment, the echoing beep playing out across the monitor reminding them that precious seconds were disappearing.

“Agent Farnsworth, we’ve got minutes to get her heart started. That small yellow contraption there, please grab it and bring it!” he shouted with more urgency and that was all Astrid needed to snap back into action, grabbing the defibrillator off the shelf and racing down beside Walter, who was already throwing open the heavy doors to the tank.

Olivia was half submerged in the water, and for the briefest of moments Walter could have sworn he also saw Carla hiding in the tank. _Nonsense._ He stepped in with Olivia, the water sloshing through his right shoe and pant leg as he grabbed onto a slippery arm. Almost two minutes had already passed.

 _“You shouldn’t have let her go into that death trap, Walter!”_ an angry voice reverberated from inside the tank and Walter was shocked into silence. Olivia’s dead weight soaked through his shirt. He looked at the speaker in the corner.

“Who’s there?” Walter’s voice was a snarl.

“I’m here Walter,” Astrid said from outside the tank, already reaching in to help pull Olivia out. Walter‘s heart was still sputtering at the sound of the man’s voice. Had he really heard it at all?

“Got her, Walter,” Astrid said, and it forced him to push his nerves to the side.  Between them they quickly pulled Olivia out of the tank and placed her onto the blanket that Astrid had thrown down.

“She’s not breathing,” Walter confirmed as he checked her vitals. “Astro, place the pads here and here,” he instructed, pointing to spots on Olivia’s upper chest and rib cage, and he was thankful that Astrid was proving herself efficiently useful.

 _“I told you if you put her in that thing you were going to kill her,”_ the tank said again and Walter felt as though he was the one who got the shock.

Walter’s response was immediate and angry. “She made the choice. She understood the risks,” he snarled back. The tank looked as innocuous as ever, oblivious to Walter’s outburst. It made his throat dry, but maybe that was just the pretzels.

“Walter, what do we do next?” Astrid asked, grabbing his arm and trying to focus him.

“We have to shock her heart back into rhythm,” he said, unraveling the leads from the AED device.

“These aren’t going to electrocute her, are they?” Astrid’s voice was strained, her clothing dripping the same stale-smelling water, and Walter felt slightly disoriented, experiencing déjà vu and feeling like he had come down too rapidly from a high.

“Walter?” Astrid said again.

“Electrocution is the least of our problems, dear,” Walter finally responded in a flat voice and watching the device as it whirled to life. Almost four minutes, he estimated. He took one last suspicious look at the tank before looking back to the agent.

“I’m sorry, Olivia,” he said briefly, watching the AED display and pushing the shock button as soon as it lit up.  “CLEAR!” he said, and as the jolt of electricity buzzed through the air, he thought almost manically that he’d always wanted to say that.

Something odd happened as the first jolt charged through Olivia. The lights inside the lab flickered angrily, as if all the power had drained from the building, the walls vibrating. There was a flash of movement to Walter’s right, and two bulbs exploded overhead, making them both jump and Astrid yelp. Olivia’s back arched and she sucked in a strangled, wet breath.  The thing Walter had seen out of the corner of his eye was already gone when he turned to glance at it, and Olivia abruptly sprang to life like she was made of fire, gasping and gripping both Walter and Astrid with such force that they both winced from her sharp fingers. Olivia’s eyes were wild and unfocused, face flushed and her voice raw as she choked in sharp breaths.

That’s when Walter saw clearly what he hadn’t before, that the air in the lab was now saturated with energy, full of charged ions and electric sparks. Two feet to the left of the tank now stood a man, his arms crossed and sharp blue eyes staring right at him. Then the man was gone, and the electrical storm was over, leaving behind only intermittent pops of light and the slight smell of ozone.

Olivia clamped her hand in Walter’s collar and pulled herself close to Walter’s shocked face, her voice ragged.

“Na eínai kalýtero ánthropo apó ton patéra sou,” Olivia’s weak voice rattled. Her eyes suddenly focused on him for a brief moment before she was out cold against his chest.

“What was that?” Astrid said, trying to unravel Olivia’s strong grip from their clothing.

“You saw him too?” Walter’s throat was thick with surprise.

“Saw who?” Astrid answered as she began prepping a syringe with the 30 cc’s of dextroamphetamine Walter had motioned for. “What was she saying? Was that Latin?”

“Greek,” Walter corrected as he checked Olivia’s vitals again before injecting her with the dextroamphetamine.  Her heart rate came back strong and regular, the heavy thrum racing through his fingertips, and for that he was thankful.

“What the heck did she say?” Astrid asked as she covered Olivia with another blanket.

Walter pursed his lips, feeling light headed and nauseated, his stomach aching.  He wasn’t sure he could stand just yet.

“No idea.”


	12. Life On Earth

Broyles was reading a file in his office in the Federal Building, seated behind his imposing wooden desk with the door closed against intruders. He was a creature of meticulous habit and control; he’d had to be, considering his military background and the nature of his work with the FBI.

Because of his stringent composure and imposing presence, he’d realized early in life that he had an unsettling affect on those around him. He used it to his advantage, his scowl and somber attitude causing both acquaintances and strangers alike to  avoid him. He blended richly into the shadows, working under cover of darkness and often in situations of unbridled danger. He knew his ability for getting the job done in the grey zones gave him the upper hand. And he’d always felt comfortable operating there, until…

Nothing had been the same since that day in the morgue when he’d stood over his own dead and mutilated body, burnt and battered and staring up at him lifelessly from the slab. He didn’t know his doppelganger, this other Phillip Broyles, but he knew he’d just witnessed firsthand how hazardous the nature of his work had now become. It was the first time Broyles understood real sacrifice. The man who shared his face but lived a different life had forfeited himself in order to bring Agent Dunham back to this side, in an attempt to staunch a war between the universes. He wondered for some time what he would be willing to risk in the name of the greater good. The wedding ring on the man’s left hand haunted him. He knew that ring, could pick it out of a thousand like it. The man had given up more than Broyles ever had.

With a sigh, he flipped through the completed psych evaluation he had received on Dunham. He wore a deep frown as his eyes caught colorful clips with words like “delusional” and “psychotic break,” and he’d had to check twice that it was Olivia’s file and not Bishop’s.

_Recommended action: Suspension until fit for duty. Mandatory continued psychiatric evaluation and care._

Broyles grimaced. His phone chirped loudly on his desk and he answered quickly, thankful for the distraction.

“Broyles,” he answered.

“Agent Broyles, it’s Nina Sharp.”

Broyles sat up a little straighter. 

“What do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Sharp?” he replied, cool as ice. It was never a good omen when Nina called.

“I wanted to check to see how our own Ms. Dunham was doing.”

“Is this a house call then? I can’t help but believe you’re not extending a greeting out of professional courtesy.” Broyles could almost see the sneer forming on Nina’s perfectly polished lipstick. Nina’s voice remained cool.

“You underestimate my concern, Phillip. I think of Olivia as a daughter. Of course her wellbeing expands beyond merely the professional. And if you recall, she experienced this _episode_ within close proximity of Massive Dynamic. Of course I want to know if there’s anything else I might be able to offer in the course of her recovery.”

“Of course,” Broyles retorted.

“But there’s more to why I’m calling,” she continued. “You asked me to keep you updated with information about any residual effects of the machine being operational. I wanted to apprise you of certain…irregularities that we’ve been investigating.”

“Oh? And what irregularities are those?”

There was a moment of hesitation on the line.

“When the Bridge was opened and the two worlds became unlinked, we found that the soft spots in our universe were reversing…initially healing, as it were.”

“And in the other universe’s as well. Yes, Dr. Bishop explained that,” Broyles said, feeling short.

Nina didn’t immediately respond.

“Is that no longer the case?” Broyles supplied when Nina didn’t respond.

“Are you free to meet?” Nina asked. Broyles checked his watch.

“Do I have a choice?” Broyles retorted.

“Now, Phillip. There’s always a choice. But I think this would be better explained in person.”

It took a little over two hours before Broyles finally pulled up to a small clearing outside of Schenectady where Nina had directed him to meet her. They were well beyond the populated zone of the city.  He checked the GPS location Nina had supplied. Reiden Lake. He saw Nina’s sleek black Town Car parked not too far from where he’d pulled over, and knew it was the right place.

He stepped out of his car and into the cool air; he could smell water and pine trees. He pulled down his cap and set out against the wind to see what in the hell Nina was going to great strides to show him.

He saw the red flash of Nina’s hair before he noticed she wasn’t alone, a bear of a man in a white lab coat to her right, shoulders curled and hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Thank you for joining us, Phillip,” Nina said warmly, but Broyles only eyed the man next her suspiciously. She continued, “This is Brandon Fayette, he’s been heading the monitoring of the machine over this last year.”

Brandon nodded awkwardly to Broyles but didn’t offer to shake his hand. Broyles nodded back.

“Do you mind sharing why you’ve asked me to come here, Ms. Sharp?” Broyles cut in sharply.

If Nina was annoyed, she didn’t readily show it. Instead she stepped to the side and expanded her mechanical hand out in the direction of the body of water behind her.

“Do you recognize where we are?”

“Should I?” he replied. The wind was picking up, bringing the smell from the crust of the lake with it.

“I trust you are informed about events involving the Pattern?”

“I was asked to coordinate the Fringe Division from Homeland Security in response to the unexplained phenomena caused by the Pattern,” Broyles confirmed, not impressed at her attempt at subterfuge.

“Then you should know that we’re standing in the original Zero Event zone,” Nina continued. Brandon, for his part, tried to look anywhere but at Nina and Broyles.

Broyles stewed for a moment. Of course he remembered.

“What is it that you want?” he finally said. 

“As you know, we’ve been monitoring the machine around the clock for any fluctuations or changes in its engineering, and we’ve found something.  It’s…rather complicated,” Nina replied.

“Uncomplicate it,” Broyles said.

He saw a flash of annoyance that Nina stifled quickly. 

“They’re reverting. The soft spots, the membrane in our universe is thinning.”

For a moment, Broyles couldn’t respond. Fear coiled at the base of his spine but he didn’t betray an inch of his alarm to Nina. He shifted his jaw then.

“And the other universe? Are their soft spots thinning as well?”

“No.  They’re the same as they were. It appears that whatever’s happening, however these soft spots are reoccurring, is only happening on our side.”

Broyles saw a flash of red, his fist clenching.

“Sabotage?” Broyles’ mind was already whirling a million miles a minute, possibilities spinning.

“I didn’t say that,” Nina corrected. “There’s no evidence of that.  Even if they wanted to try to weaponize the machine, their Fringe Division can’t control the machine any more than we could. Not without dire consequences to both universes. No, these anomalies appear to be…different.”

“What are you saying?”

Nina took a breath. “The soft spots that we’ve been able to track are unlike the parameters of what we’ve experienced in the past. Some are the same consistency as before, but the clustering is very...unique. And we can’t posit why some previous locations are being affected but others aren’t.”

“Like here,” Broyles filled in.

“Technically about two miles out in the direction of the lake,” Brandon entered into the conversation, eager to finally be included.  “The spot is a good quarter-mile in diameter. At least based on what our calculations are showing.”

Broyles couldn’t perceive anything obvious that proved the world was weakening. Not that he knew what he was looking for. Everything appeared normal: the water rippling under the touch of wind, birds chattering in the distance. Nothing appeared out of place. 

“You’re sure?” he had to say it out loud for his own sanity’s sake.

Nina and Brandon shared the same look. Nina nodded.

“Go ahead,” she said. Brandon produced a small silver cylinder from his pocket. He clicked on the end and it produced a brilliant red stream of light that Broyles could see clearly even in the daylight.

“Don’t shine this in your eyes,” Brandon warned. Broyles waited.

“Normal lenses, like in a pair of glasses, bend light rays in order to focus the light.  Now, gravitational fields of large objects like stars or planets also bend light in a similar way.  It’s called gravitational lensing,” Brandon started, waving the pen like a light saber, “Light rays passing close to an object will be refracted somewhere else. That’s how we know something is there—we can see it bending light. It’s an effect of Einstein’s theory of general relativity. Pretty cool, huh?” Brandon continued when Broyles looked sour. 

When Nina gave him a look, he continued, a bit more focused. “The sun is an example of a large object that bends light rays, of course, but it’s a weaker lens because of the distance. Other objects can also bend light.  Say, theoretically, a black hole.”  At this, Brandon directed the laser’s beam out towards the middle of Reiden Lake, the red light cutting through the distance over the water’s surface. Broyles sucked in a breath when he saw what was happening to the light.

 “It has to yet to be tested with a black hole, because we’ve never obviously had a black hole to test it with,” Brandon ended with a note of awe.  The three of them watched as the light stopped midpoint over the depth of the water like it hit an invisible wall. It twisted in mid-air, stopping short and slowly spinning in on itself like a pinwheel, growing tighter in the base. It was the single most terrifying thing Broyles had ever witnessed.

No one said anything for a few moments as they watched.

It was Nina who broke Broyles out of his thoughts.

“You can see why I requested you come down here,” she said. Brandon flipped off the laser and the spot above Reiden Lake resumed its ordinary guise. Like nothing was wrong.

“You’re not saying that’s a black hole,” Broyles said roughly. His stomach tightened.

Nina and Brandon looked at each other again.

“We’re not saying that…yet,” Brandon supplied. “We’re not sure how it formed, or to what extent this anomaly reaches. We just know that it’s there.”

“Where does it lead?” Broyles asked. Nina answered.

“We’re not sure about that either. We know it’s not to the other universe, but the structure changes dramatically too often to nail down precise calculations.”

Broyles felt like he had sunk into the earth, feet bound and immobilized.

“So why exactly did you bring me here? For a light show and questions you don’t know the answers to yet?”

Nina’s eyes turned to slits. She looked over to a ruffled-looking Brandon and nodded an excusal, watching him make his way back to their vehicle.  Nina walked beyond Broyles, waiting for him to follow.

“I realize this is shocking to hear. It was for us too,” Nina began.

“Does Dr. Bishop know?” Broyles interrupted. “Does he have a theory?”

“I felt it unwise to inform Walter. Given the circumstances.”

“Bishop was indispensable in his work with the machine. It was at his urging that we moved it to keep it from ripping apart our world. What circumstances would merit his exclusion now? And how long has Massive Dynamic kept this information to themselves?”

“As long as necessary,” she smiled tightly. “And there is a reason why we haven’t divulged this information to you, and specifically to Walter Bishop.” Nina stopped short, brushing a flash of red hair out of her face. “We now know that this is directly tied to the machine. And we’ve also recently been able to determine that the anomalies began only a short time ago.”

“When?”

Nina sighed.

“When Olivia Dunham last visited the location where it was held.”

Broyles’ jaw instantly tightened again.

“You think Olivia has something to do with this?”

Nina waved him off. “No, of course not, not on purpose. But I need your support, Phillip.  I have information that might become pertinent in the future that is absolutely vital that you understand now.  What’s happening here at the lake and at other soft spots will only increase, and rapidly so. And it is of the utmost importance that this be kept from Walter Bishop.”

“Can’t we turn off the machine then? Close the Bridge?” Broyles suggested. The wind was starting to bite at his neck, giving him chills. He felt like he was being led into deep, unpleasant water.

“You know as well as I do that we still have no idea how to do that safely. Walter doesn’t either, or he would have suggested it already. There isn’t anything that’s directly controlling the machine. It appears to be functioning independently of external forces, and--”

“So what is it that you need my support with?” Broyles interrupted

Nina’s face looked pained, her pale skin taking on a slightly more sallow hue.

“Did you know that Walter Bishop opened a bridge exactly here years ago? Walter created the means and the opportunity to cross over into another universe, something he successfully did in 1985. He tore open the fabric between the worlds to cross over and retrieve an alternate version of his son after the death of his own. I witnessed it myself, standing on a frozen Reiden Lake, in the very spot where the anomaly is now occurring.”

That jolted Broyles, and Nina was satisfied he would no longer interrupt.

“In 1985, Walter did something extraordinary. Created technology that bent space and time as we know it. But I don’t believe he’s the cause of it this time. I believe the cause isn’t anything from this world. And that’s exactly why Walter can’t be informed.”

Nina withdrew a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket, holding it out for Broyles. He unfolded it and felt his blood drain as he looked at the black lines of the drawing. It couldn’t be.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, unable to look away from it.

Nina’s voice was strained. “The calculations we’ve been able to conduct show that these anomalies will grow substantially.  Eventually, they’ll reach a threshold and then develop into a quantum singularity like a black hole, and there won’t be anything we can do about it.”

“And Olivia?”

Nina tapped the picture. “When the time comes, you’re going to need to make some very difficult decisions.”

Broyles finally looked away from the drawing, trying to discern Nina’s intentions.

“What kind of decision?”

“You need to decide what’s more important. The world’s survival, or Olivia Dunham’s.” 


	13. With You In My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone still reading. Shout out to Big Boo for actually doing the research on the science-y stuff and the edit job, as per usual. Still ripping music titles off as my own because I'm still not clever enough to come up with my own. Extra credit if you guess the artist (or not tell on me).

“Olivia…”

The room was all wrong. This wasn’t her bedroom. This wasn’t her home, that much she was sure of. The air was dense as it hung thick on her tongue as she came close to biting down on it.

“I know where I am,” she said in no one in particular. The warmth of the room didn’t belong to her, because this wasn’t her room; wasn’t her life. There was a moment of panic as she looked for a way out from the other Olivia’s bedroom she was now inexplicably trapped in.

“Olivia,” the voice once again intoned, and in her distraction she realized she had forgotten him until now. She’d heard his voice so often now that it almost felt natural to hear her name on his lips. She was seated on the bed watching Frank leave, phone pressed to his ear, exchanging words she couldn’t quite hear. He was leaving for North Texas in a few minutes, the smallpox outbreak spreading and she knew it would be months before she saw him again.

But she forgot about Frank when _he_ was there. The man stood like a ghost a few feet away from her, looking at her expectantly with his hands in his pockets like always. Olivia could count on her fingers the times she caught him watching her, always looking like he was daring her to do something untoward. She’d never gotten a clear picture of him before, always catching him in passing. He was actually here now.

It was a lot less shocking than it should have been. Her fingers curled into the bed sheets. He twisted his mouth into a smirk and her throat went dry. She should have called for Frank. She didn’t. His voice was rich. Deep. 

“You know why you didn't die today, right? Because you didn't know the protocol. If you'd stopped for oxygen, you'd be dead right now. But you did something that he couldn't factor in: you kept running. You know why you did that. It's the same reason you thought you saw Walter in the hospital. It's the same reason why you think you're seeing me now. You're not from this world Olivia. You're not _her_.”

“You’re not real,” Olivia answered. But she knew it was a lie even before she finished saying it.

The man approached her, surefooted and cocky. His fingers felt real as they reached for her chin, angling her face toward him. His breath was sweet on her face. “Real is just a matter of perception.” He pressed his lips against hers. 

Olivia awoke with the familiar pain in her stomach and a sweaty brow. She felt the stab of pain in her chest from moving too quickly and her hand fisted into her shirt like it might ease the bruises that were there. She tried to remember more of the memory, why it was so important, but it was already dimming and she couldn’t bring it fully back. She just knew _he_ was in it, because it was always him.

It was 6:14am.

She kicked the sheets off and padded into the bathroom. She undressed in near darkness, not bothering to flick on the lights, letting the light from the small window over the shower fill the room as pushed the tap to hot and turned it to full blast.

Olivia glared into the mirror in the dim light. She pulled her hair to one side and tried to make out the faint lines of the tattoo she had removed when she first came back, erasing the last remaining tether to her captivity on the other side. It had hurt like hell to remove, but it had been worth it.

She couldn’t ignore the brushing of bruises that littered her chest and ribs like purple and black checkers, but didn’t bother to inspect them closer. Seeing them only reminded her that whatever was haunting her had nearly killed her in the process.

She wondered if the tank had been worth the trouble.  She’d come to with her bones on fire, her brain turned to sludge and little resolution on what it was that was happening to her. She was still confined to inactive duty. And, probably still just as crazy.

The man’s face was clear as daylight now, and Olivia had nearly every one of his features fixed in her memory, even if she still didn’t know who he was. The _feelings_ remained as well, a jumbled mix of emotions that were utterly frustrating. She felt deeply attached to the man, could dredge up images of them together, together with Walter, but none of it felt real.

Or maybe it felt too real and everything else in her life had become cotton fluff. She could smell the fibers of the wool of his favorite coat mixed with his soap and aftershave. She felt his temper and his intellect and the way he flexed his jaw when he was particularly angry. But they weren’t her memories, they couldn’t be. 

_Na eínai kalýtero ánthropo apó ton patéra tou_ , she had said to Walter. Not that she remembered saying it. She’d woken up to Walter’s frightened and waxy face peering down at her, soaking wet and tangled in wires and feeling like she’d gotten struck by lightening. It was strange; she had no memory of _why_ or how she knew to say it. She only knew that whatever it was, it was important to _him_.

“Be a better man than your father,” Astrid had decoded for her, later. Walter had flat refused to even talk about the events of the tank or the fact that Olivia’s heart had to be jump-started. Olivia didn’t like thinking about that arbitrary fact too much herself. Walter had retreated back into his office and would not resurface, refusing all contact with Olivia.

“Be a better man than your father” Olivia said into the mirror, no more clued into its meaning now than when she’d first said it. Something about it felt right though. Maybe it was something that was important to her on the other side. 

She glared at herself until the steam from the shower filled the space and her features began to blur in the mirror. After a cursory swipe over the glass, she gave up trying to pull herself apart from the other Olivia and stepped into the stream of water.

The shower was brutally hot but it didn’t feel nearly hot enough to scrub herself clean from yesterday’s events. She leaned against the shower wall, the tile cool against her forearms, and she simply let the water wash over her. She was in no hurry, she had nowhere to go, and Walter was still refusing to see her in the lab. Not that there were any new cases anyway. She had a mountain of unclaimed vacation time that she was being forced to take. She could sleep in until noon if she wanted. But she was uneasy with time. The emptiness became nearly unbearable when she was alone.

_“Olivia.”_

Olivia jumped away from the shower curtain at the sound of her name, nearly slipping in her alarm.

“Hello?” she called out. “Who’s there?”

There was no answer, just the swirling tap-tap-tap of water hitting against porcelain tiles. Olivia twisted off the water and threw back the curtain.

The bathroom was empty, the door still closed just as she’d left it.

“Who’s there?” she said again, and was met with stony silence. The hair on her arms raised against the sudden chill. She grabbed for a towel and wrapped it around herself, thankful that she wouldn’t have to fight completely naked.

Only, there was no one there to fight off.

Ripples of a migraine suddenly came on, and what little light the window supplied became too bright. Olivia gripped the sink when she felt her stomach lurch and she had to breathe deeply to keep from retching into it.

The steam lingered, though the heat was long gone and her hair trailed in thick wet coils around her shoulders, and it took a while for her to begin to feel almost normal again. Then the bathroom walls changed colors and she felt very not normal once again. As always, it was a sudden jolt and she stared at the walls around her incredulously. It was only a slight change, but the grey was now a twinge too dark and the nausea rolled in her stomach all over again.

“If you’d like to scare me, you could at least show yourself. Make it official,” Olivia said out loud. “So at least I know I’m not crazy. It would only be polite.”

She tried to straighten her knees. The nothing she was talking to didn’t respond. The chill continued up her spine and by now she’d successfully dripped water all over the bathroom floor.

She saw herself through the condensation that was slowly dissolving in the mirror.

“You have a name?” she said off-handedly.

There was a shift in the light again, and something began to happen in the mirror. Through the steam something was…forming. Olivia watched in stunned silence, goose bumps breaking out on her skin and the air tightened in her throat. Words formed on their own, written by an invisible hand right before her eyes through the steam on the mirror:

P – E – T – E – R

In the smeared lines of the words Olivia saw the flash of the man behind her shoulder. When she turned to find him, he was already gone.

She stared at the letters like they might disappear if she blinked, already dripping and bleeding down into the sink.

She pushed away from the sink and into the opposite wall, as far away as she could get from what she had just seen. Olivia couldn’t stop staring at the name staring politely back at her.

“ _Because you asked.”_ She heard far away in the distance, not knowing what it meant. 


	14. The Departed Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of these things are not like the other...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *update* Super sorry about the weird double posting. Just think of it as your own Cortexiphan-induced hallucination... 
> 
> Thanks to BOOYA for the edits. Just trying to tie up some loose ends which makes finishing a little slow. We're almost there, folks!

Olivia walked through the grassy quad of Harvard’s courtyard; her knees still jelly and her insides jittery. Her hands shook so she stuffed them into her pockets, blending in with the crowds of students with full hands and heavy backpacks as they raced to classes, and she was grateful that she was ignored.

What exactly had she seen? It was fresh in her memory, every letter of the message perfectly formed on the fogged mirror, pressed there by _someone._ But how? She’d stared at the inscription until the steam had evaporated and the name slowly disappeared, leaving behind only smudged glass. Olivia had sat there so long staring at the mirror that her hair was nearly dry when she finally dragged herself out and changed into her clothing. She had to see Walter, whether he wanted to see her or not.

It was clear as day and burnt into her consciousness. The name had appeared just as  soon as she’d asked for it. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

In the midst of replaying the morning’s events in her mind, Olivia thought she noticed someone shadowing her from the corner of her eye, just out of her peripheral vision. She turned quickly, expecting to see the man from her visions standing there, and she felt almost excited to see his mussed hair.

Only, he wasn’t there. Just students and faculty making their way across the campus. She was disappointed.

Olivia huffed, irritated, and turned to start along the path again when a particularly distracted younger man accidently bumped into her shoulder and broke Olivia free from her introspection.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he strode by her with his nose buried deep in a textbook.  Olivia took a steadying step backwards, refocusing on her surroundings. In the pack of people off to her left, Olivia noticed someone…odd. Since the hallucinations involving the man had been occurring more often, she’d become especially observant of her surroundings, expecting to see him at every turn.

But it was a different man that stood eyeing her solemnly in the distance, someone she’d never seen before. He was quite peculiar, she noted, standing out in his dark suit and tie and wearing a fedora, when everyone else around him wore sweatshirts and jeans. He looked old fashioned.

Something triggered. She thought the man would look away as she stared back at him, but he didn’t, keeping perfect eye contact in the distance between them. When Olivia took a quick step in his direction, his head cocked to the side like he was thinking of a particular question.

Then she remembered.

She’d seen him before. She took another decisive step, but by the time she made the decision to fully approach him he disappeared, swept up by the crowd.  He’d simply vanished.

She had no clue how he was here, but it was _him_ , she was sure of it.

_Great,_ she thought. _Now there’s more than one figment of her imagination._

She didn’t linger long before turning back in the direction of the Kresge building, glancing to the side and as she did so, she suddenly caught him further along in the distance, pacing her as she walked. He then stopped, standing still and watching her, as people broke around him, completely oblivious to his presence. With an angry shake of her head, Olivia ignored him and picked up her pace. She was sick of imaginary people staring at her.

Opening the doors and stepping inside Walter’s lab, she found it smelled just like it always had, like disinfectant and weed and Olivia was glad to be someplace that felt familiar.

“Walter?” Olivia called out as she shrugged out of her coat. Astrid noticed her first as she passed by holding a tray filled with what only Olivia could describe as chaos.

“Olivia, how are you? How are you feeling?” Astrid said sweetly, her round face surprised.

“Good,” Olivia answered as she unwrapped her scarf. “Is Walter here?”

“Of course he is. And as pleasant as ever since your adventures in the tank,” Astrid said, nodding towards the main level of the lab as she balanced the tray on her hip.

“Oh?” Olivia said.

Astrid gave her a stony glare. “Don’t for an instant think that he’s taking what happened lightly. He’d be devastated if something happened to you, Olivia. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Olivia muttered. Astrid’s expression became pleasant again.

“He’s been working on his turntable since…well, good luck is all I can say.” And with that, Astrid continued on her way with her tray, heading towards one of the lab benches. She stopped and turned with an afterthought. “Oh, and Broyles has been looking for you. Has he gotten a hold of you?”

Olivia shook her head and shrugged. Then she frowned.

“Does he know?” she asked. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Astrid made a sheepish face and Olivia dropped her shoulders.

“Thanks for letting me know,” she grumbled to Astrid’s retreating back. Olivia closed the small distance to where Walter was seated, finding him hunched over a table facing away from her, large padded headphones dwarfing his salt and pepper hair.

“Confounded contraption!” he grumbled loudly, and Olivia could see pieces of machinery littering every inch of free space. In the middle sat Walter’s ancient turntable, half pulled apart, the guts scattered onto the table.

“Walter,” Olivia said, putting her hand on Walter’s outstretched forearm and he jumped.

“Agent Dunham!” he yelled in surprise, and Olivia had to point to the headphones he was wearing. “Oh,” he muttered and quickly removed them, his voice dropping to a tolerable decibel level. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out. You should be recuperating. You’ve been through quite the trauma.”

“I’m okay, Walter. I needed to see you. You haven’t returned any of my messages.”

Walter looked pained. “I apologize dear, as you can see I have been dealing with much more pressing matters…”

Olivia stared at the pile of equipment between them and cocked an eyebrow sardonically.

“I see that,” she said. “Others might call it avoidance.”

Walter harrumphed and began to try to sweep the disaster away with his hands.

“It’s broken,” he said quickly to Olivia. “It sticks on a single song on a specific album, the blasted thing. Haven’t been able to fix it yet. It plays everything else perfectly except the record I want to listen to.”

“Which record is that?” Olivia asked.

“Bowie,” Walter muttered, busy trying to avoid further conversation with her. Olivia could feel the distance he was trying to create, but the man’s face in the courtyard burned into her retinas.

“Wasn’t that the record that was playing when I went into the tank?” Olivia asked and Walter’s shoulders hunched like she’d smacked him.

“The power surge, it must have blown a fuse when you...” he muttered, but didn’t finish his thought.  

“I’m seeing things again, Walter, or at least I think I am,” Olivia continued cautiously as Walter concentrated on putting the pieces of his beloved turntable gently back together again.

“There was a man outside—,” she started

“Oh? Was it our friend again?” Walter said distracted as he worked, turning pieces over in his hands.

“No it isn’t the same man. This man looks…different. Out of place.”

Walter was intrigued and turned to face her.

“Different how?”

Olivia breathed. “Like old-fashioned maybe. He was wearing a suit and tie…” Olivia began as she thought back.

“There are many professors that wear that attire, dear. Myself included back in the days when—” Walter rushed towards an explanation.

“—But he was different. He _looked_ like he didn’t belong here.  He was wearing one of those old style hats and I think he might have been bald, and he was staring right at me.  And it’s not the first time I’ve seen him,” Olivia argued, and something she said made Walter halt.

“Where else have you seen him?” Walter asked.

“He was here, when I was in the tank. And he was just outside too. I’m not getting better Walter, I’m getting worse.”

“The man was bald?” Walter remarked. “Pale skin? No eyebrows?” Walter turned a little green and Olivia felt her stomach curl.

“Yes, I think so” Olivia breathed in, surprised. “You know him? Who is he?”

Walter ran over to his desk and grabbed a piece of paper, sketching quickly on it. In the few crisp dark lines Walter had drawn a picture of the bald man with the fedora.

“That’s him,” Olivia agreed. “Walter, who is he? Why would I see him in the tank? Why am I seeing him now?” she gripped the paper hard between her fingers, feeling her blood buzz.

“You’re very sure this is the man you saw, Olivia?” Walter clutched both fists to his chest, but Olivia could tell that his hand was shaking. She nodded.

“I can’t say why you’re seeing him, Olivia. At least there isn’t a rational explanation for his appearance now. But whatever the reason is, he brings nothing but destruction with him,” Walter’s face had lost all the color.

Olivia felt the buzz die. “What do you mean?” she said.

“Unfortunately, this man is not in your subconscious. Or at least he’s not limited to it. I’ve seen him before. That _man_ ,” Walter seethed at the word, “he was there, many years ago inside this lab. I saw his face,” Walter started.

Olivia stood quietly, careful to not distract him. “He was here?” she prodded him to continue.

“No, not here, as it were. You recall the window Bell and I created? That enabled us to see into the alternate universe? After my son Peter died I used it to watch the other Walter work on his own cure…they were far more advanced than we were. He had a chance to do what I could not, save his own son from the same disease that my Peter had already succumbed to. He was _this close_. This close to a cure before _that man_ in the suit distracted him. I watched as the chemical reaction that signaled success with the cure went unnoticed, and I had to watch my alternate move on, thinking he had failed as I had. And because of that man, the chance for another version of my son surviving was lost.”

As Olivia absorbed the enormity of the information something clicked, draining her lungs of oxygen and leaving her lightheaded.

“He’s the reason why you crossed over,” Olivia said.

Walter’s face was deeply pained. “I had no other choice.”

Olivia thought of something else. “If you saw that man over there, how is he here now? Decades later? How is that possible?” Olivia mused, trying to quash down the heavy fear that the other side evoked in her.

“I never saw him again, that man. I never found out what he wanted. I have no explanation for why he is here now,” Walter answered, and they both lapsed into silence.

“Walter, something happened to me this morning.” Olivia finally said and Walter froze.

“With the man in the suit?” he asked, looking worried as he waited for Olivia to continue.

“No, not him,” Olivia corrected, careful to not move. “I think the other one, the man that I’ve been seeing.  He tried to send me a message, I think.”

At that, Walter dropped all the pieces of the turntable he’d picked up again and looked interested once more.

“A message?”

“Walter, I want to ask you about your son,” Olivia said softly and Walter’s mouth turned into a flat, sad line.

“My son? What on earth would you want to know about him?” Walter took a quick step back. “He hasn’t been alive in quite some time, I just told you.” 

“Because I think he might be important with what’s happening,” Olivia said. “What’s been happening to me.”

“Nonsense,” Walter argued. “What you’re experiencing must be tied to the residual effects the Cortexiphan is having on your perceptions, dear.”

“And we still don’t have an explanation for how the Cortexiphan got into my system again. Or why I’m seeing things that shouldn’t exist,” Olivia added.

She turned towards the table, standing feet away from Walter.

“His name was Peter, right? You said that you opened the portal after he died? Tried to save the other Peter in the alternate universe. When the other Walter couldn’t.”

“Because of that man,” Walter interrupted, “they both died!” Walter’s voice rose mercilessly. His face flashed in anger and Olivia momentarily saw in it the superimposed face of his alternate from the other side.

“I held my only son in my arms as the disease ravaged him. And then I did it again as the ice broke and I had to watch him drown.” Walter’s voice was heated.

“Are you sure? That the boy drowned?” Olivia attempted to keep her voice controlled, but Walter’s rage stopped her short.

“The boy is dead,” Walter said as he slammed his fist onto the table, the turntable pieces tumbling under his fury. Olivia took a step back, stunned. Several seconds ticked by.

“The boy is dead,” Walter repeated, though his voice was softer; sadder. “I watched him die. In no universe, not this one or the other one, does the boy Peter Bishop exist.”

_Oftentimes, the simplest explanation is most likely the correct one,_ said a voice trilling inside Olivia’s skull. It reverberated and echoed slightly, and with it came flutters of pain.

“What?” Olivia said out loud and Walter responded with a confused face, his grief momentarily forgotten.

“Olivia, what is it?” he said and shuffled to her. Olivia put a hand to her forehead as the pain petered out.

“Did you hear that?” Olivia asked as a headache slowly developed.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. What do you think you heard?” Walter asked as he took Olivia’s hand away from her face to study her.

“He said that the simplest explanation is probably correct, I think.” Olivia recounted. Walter had the pen light in his hand, focusing the beam into her eyes.

“You said him. The man?” Walter asked. “What you’re referring to is the principle of Occam’s Razor.”

_Do you really think the simplest explanation is that two boys from two different universes both died, and that’s what’s making you crazy?_ the voice intoned again.

“I think so,” Olivia said over the voice as she blinked through the beam shining in her eyes. “I’m not sure.”

“Your pupils are dilated again,” Walter said. “Turn your head towards me, please.”

Olivia did as she was told. The light flicked off and she felt Walter’s cold fingers on her neck, hissing when he hit a sensitive spot.

“That’s new,” he muttered, but Olivia didn’t get the chance to ask him what he meant.

“Olivia?” came a man’s voice. Olivia didn’t respond, but Walter did.

“Agent Frances, what a surprise,” Walter noted and Olivia finally looked. Charlie stood a few feet away from them, face drawn tight over what Olivia knew was thinly veiled fury.

“Olivia, you okay?” Charlie asked directly as he moved between her and Walter. Olivia had to squint through the pain in her head to see him properly. She could tell just by looking at him that Broyles wasn’t the only one who had gotten the memo about her close call in the tank.

Great. Just great.

“I’m fine, Charlie,” Olivia said and reached out towards his arm for support. “Really—”  but something made her stop short. Even with the pain blooming inside her head, Olivia knew something was terribly wrong. Even though Charlie stood right in front of her, she knew he shouldn’t be there. Charlie had an odd glow about him, a dizziness of light that echoed like shadows refracting light. She then felt it; saw the images in her head of Charlie’s funeral, and the rush of guilt and remorse that flooded her stomach was hauntingly familiar. She couldn’t see Lexi or Sonya’s faces anymore. Their memories were already fading into darkness.

And then she knew. 

Charlie was supposed to be dead. 

She gripped his arm tightly.

“What is it?” Charlie asked and the pain of his voice was ferocious. He turned a bewildered look to Walter.  “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded.

Olivia couldn’t see Walter, Charlie’s light still too blinding.

Then it was gone, and Charlie stood looking completely normal in front of her and the headache was already receding into the recesses of her mind.

“Hey, whatever it is, you’re gonna be fine, kiddo.” Charlie said awkwardly, at a loss for anything else to say. It was innocent enough, something he’d said a thousand times over to her, but this time it was different.

“You’re right,” she said, devoid of emotion. She reluctantly let go of Charlie’s poor suit that she’d fisted in her fingers. “I’m fine. Just a migraine. It’s gone now.”

“Olivia,” Walter said cautiously.

“Really. Fine.” Olivia continued. But she knew. _She knew._ Charlie was supposed to be dead, not standing here in the lab with her.

Charlie looked confused. “Broyles asked me to get you,” he said, desperately trying to change the subject while looking despairingly between Olivia and Walter.

“Okay,” Olivia said, looking once toward Walter to see if he’d noticed the same thing she had. He hadn’t.  “Let me get my coat. I’ll meet you in front,” Olivia said.

She watched Charlie’s jaw clench and he finally nodded and made his way out of the lab, the glow so dim that Olivia wasn’t sure if it had ever really been there at all.

Olivia never looked away.

“Walter, can I have that picture?” she asked and held out an empty palm toward him.

“I’m sorry, Olivia.” Walter’s voice was frail when he responded, and Olivia felt the paper slide into her palm as she folded her fingers around it. Whoever or whatever this man was, Olivia knew he held answers.

“Thank you Walter,” Olivia responded without ever looking at his face, fearing what she might find there.

Crumpling the drawing into her pocket, she left to catch up to Charlie.


	15. Civilian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any of this sound familiar?

The Federal building was quiet at that time of day, which seemed unusual to Olivia, but maybe she’d never really bothered to notice before. She debated whether to ask Charlie to let her sneak away to use the facial recognition software, but then thought better of it. She was pretty sure the distinctive looking man wouldn’t be in any federal databases.

Still, the picture burned a hole in her pocket and she had a hard time concentrating as she and Charlie walked through the corridors of the building. It was embarrassing having to be escorted, her credentials revoked, and she finally understood Peter’s irritation at having to be escorted all the time.

Wait.

_What?_

Olivia stopped short for a second as she felt something click in her head. But then it slipped away; a sense of déjà vu that she couldn’t quite hold on to. Charlie stopped ahead of her, the light blooming brightly around him for a brief second. Then that, too, was gone.

“Olivia?” he questioned as she caught up to him.

“What does Broyles need that he couldn’t say over the phone?” Olivia asked, shaking off the bad feeling.

“I don’t know,” Charlie admitted, but didn’t break stride. “But he must want to say it in person.”

Olivia had been rattled for the entire car ride. She was sure by now that Broyles had received Anderson’s report of their meeting. Though the woman hadn’t shared her decision, Olivia could only guess it was something along the lines of not giving the crazy person a weapon and an FBI badge.

“There’s nothing foreboding at all about that,” Olivia attempted to joke as they reached the closed door to Broyles’ office.

“Any last words?” Charlie said at her side, and Olivia once again felt deep affection well up, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she wouldn’t ever see him again.

“Take care,” Olivia said earnestly, memorizing her partner’s face. “All of you.” And with that, she opened the door without knocking and disappeared inside.

Broyles was standing behind his desk, suit jacket gone and phone in hand in the midst of a heated discussion. He looked up sharply at Olivia and stopped mid-sentence. Olivia had seen that posture before; the snarled tone. He glared at Olivia as he listened, a frown deepening on his face.

“I understand. She’s here,” he said into the phone, and then hung it back in its cradle on the desk.

Olivia stayed firmly in her spot until Broyles waved her closer.

“Have a seat,” he motioned. Olivia walked toward the desk but decided not to sit, instead planting her hands on the back of one of the chairs facing the intimidating desk.

“I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same to you,” she said. Broyles looked annoyed and made a show of sitting in his own seat, looking up at Olivia as he folded his fingers together. When Olivia didn’t continue, he picked up the topmost red file sitting neatly in a pile.

“How bad is it?” Olivia asked and waited.

“How bad is what, Agent Dunham?” Broyles said as he flipped through pages in the file that Olivia knew held her fate, and she felt angry.

“I know you heard about what happened in the lab. And I can only assume you have the files from Anderson deeming me unfit to return to active duty. There can only be one reason to bring me in personally to relay that information.”

Broyles stopped flipping the papers and glared at Olivia. He laid the file carefully down and folded his hands in front of him again.

“You’re correct on both counts. But I doubt you know the reason why I asked Agent Francis to bring you here. Would you like to continue to speculate, or can we get on with it?”

Olivia didn’t argue.

“Then, have a seat.”

Olivia did as she was told, and sank into the chair as she felt heat creeping into her cheeks. 

“How are you?” Broyles asked after a long, silent, uncomfortable moment.

Olivia shrugged. “Good,” she said. “A little tired of people asking me how I’m doing.”

That earned a pointed stare from Broyles.

“Considering you went into cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated after taking a heap of antipsychotics? That’s good to hear,” Broyles said evenly, and Olivia knew he was trying to gauge her reaction. She attempted to remain neutral.

“Sir, it was an experimental procedure that had helped once before,” Olivia said defensively, “when I had John’s memories. Walter thought it might help again.”

“You were supposed to be cured of psychosis by a man who’d spent the better part of two decades in a mental facility?” Broyles responded. Olivia deflated when she heard it said out loud. She picked at a bit of dirt under her nail.

“That was the general idea, yes.” Olivia reluctantly grumbled.

“Did it work this time?” he asked.

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t a complete lie, she decided.

“Anderson has some worrisome things to say about you,” Broyles continued as he picked back up the red file he’d abandoned earlier.

“I’m sure it’s all quite colorfully described,” Olivia said. Broyles shifted back into his chair and Olivia bit down on her tongue.

“I’ve been dosed with Cortexiphan,” Olivia explained. “Walter doesn’t know how, and I don’t know why. Walter has speculated that’s what’s been enabling me to perceive certain things.”

“Dr. Bishop dosed you with Cortexiphan once before. Two years ago after the earthquake in New York City,” Broyles said. “You’re sure this isn’t a residual effect from that?”

Olivia hesitated, biting at a bit of chapped lip. She remembered being in New York, the conservation of mass and the building that disappeared into the other universe with hundreds of people still inside it when Walter’s experiment failed. No, she amended, when _she_ failed.

“Walter’s sure,” she answered.

“How is this different than before?”

“Maybe something’s triggering it now. I hear things,” she began, “voices. Sometimes I see people. A man, mostly. Sometimes things feel…displaced. And sudden migraines.”

Broyles listened and Olivia felt relieved that he didn’t laugh. 

“I knew about the Cortexiphan,” Broyles added and Olivia scrunched her face. “Agent Farnsworth asked me to check if anybody unofficially crossed over the Bridge from the other side.”

“And?” Olivia quickly asked. “Someone’s crossed?”

Broyles’ sigh was deep. “No one. The truce remains as it was. No one has crossed over, either here or there,” Broyles said, and Olivia felt the sharp pain of disappointment in her ribs. “Whatever happened to you didn’t come from the other side.”

“Olivia,” Broyles heaved another heavy sigh, “there’s something else.”

Olivia straightened.

_Ask about the man,_ she heard from over her shoulder, the whisper tickling her ear as he said it. She knew better than to try to turn around to catch a glimpse of his face.

“There’s also a man,” Olivia said quickly over Broyles. “A bald man in a suit. I saw him today outside Harvard. And I’m sure I’ve seen him before,” Olivia said.

Broyles leaned back in his chair at the news. “And it’s not just me.  Walter’s seen him too. Back in the 80’s before he crossed over. He saw the man on the other side.” Olivia reached into her pocket and retrieved the piece of crumpled up paper she’d almost forgotten about. She took time to smooth it flat before sliding it over to Broyles.

“Where did you get this?” Broyles said darkly as he stared at the little picture in front of him.

“Walter drew it,” she answered, slightly surprised.

“You’re sure this is the same man you saw today?” he asked as Olivia nodded.

Broyles laid Walter’s drawing back onto the table and reached down into a hidden drawer in his desk, and Olivia could hear the sound of a lock. She sat patiently as Broyles withdrew a thick accordion file that was filled to the point of almost exploding. Broyles opened it and started pulling out different photographs, laying them in front of Olivia. Most were black and white, some newer. Some Olivia could only guess were taken in the early 1900’s based on the style of clothing, others fairly recent. In every one of them stood the same, blurred version of the man that Olivia had seen that day standing ominously in the background.

“Took us a year to spot him, you did it within three weeks.”

Olivia couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Each picture, spanning decades, and every one with the same man in them. It didn’t make sense. Despite the different eras depicted in the photos, it was apparent he hadn’t aged a day.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Olivia said as she picked up a slick black and white photo of a solider standing proudly in his uniform outside a base. Further back in the background stood the same man she’d only seen hours earlier. She flipped the photo and read _Berlin, 1946._

“That is an excellent question,” Broyles said. Olivia felt something stirring again; the same vague sense of déjà vu she’d encountered before.

“You’ve run him through every database?” she said, eyes still focused on the photo but her thoughts running elsewhere.

“Of course,” Broyles answered.

“And there’s nothing on him. Nothing at all,” she stated, and as she looked up she suddenly knew why it felt so familiar. She spoke before Broyles could. “No positive I.D. You’ve recorded him at over three dozen scenes, all of which relate to the Pattern,” Olivia said, and Broyles looked surprised.

“That’s what you were going to say, right?” Olivia said, shifting through the distant images in her foggy memory.

Broyles sat, stunned. “How did you know that?” he said.

“Because you’ve told me this before,” Olivia said, feeling her bones vibrate as she tried to keep focused on the memory she knew couldn’t be hers but somehow was. “But we weren’t in your office, we were in another room…with more of these pictures, dozens more.” Olivia stood and started to pace around the room, trying to hold onto the fleeting feeling of reliving the moment, picture still in hand.

“He’s watching. Observing. That’s why you refer to him as “The Observer.” You don’t know what he wants. You do know that the only time he surfaces is when major events happen. Before they happen.” Olivia tossed the photo back to Broyles, who was now standing, fingers stretched across the desk, looking unsettled.

“Explain how you have this information,” Broyles said.

“I don’t know,” Olivia admitted. “Am I right?”

Broyles stewed silently, trying to analyze the situation. Olivia felt the memory begin to slip back into nothingness, and try as she might it was hard to bring anything other than bits of fluff back again.

Broyles’ response was slow; deliberate.

“Yes, you’re correct. Except it’s not three dozen. There’s many more than that. But none of it has ever been revealed for national security purposes. The fact that you know about it at all is troublesome.”

Olivia was excited, even in the face of Broyles’ obvious suspicion.

“Sir, we’ve talked about this before. This exact thing. I remember it, but I don’t know why. It must be the Cortexiphan,” she said, but stopped. Something else occurred to her. 

“Does Massive Dynamic know? About the Observer?” Olivia asked suddenly. Broyles bristled. He flexed his jaw hard and Olivia had her answer.

“I need to see Nina Sharp,” she decided, “I know she can give me answers, and who knows, maybe they’re behind this. Maybe this is why I’ve been injected with the Cortexiphan.” Olivia was already up and out of her seat.

“Don’t you think that if Nina Sharp had answers that were vital for this investigation, she would have offered them already? You think she’d risk going after a federal agent to secretly dose her with a nootropic that William Bell and Walter Bishop created back in the 80’s? To what end?”

Olivia gave Broyles a cynical look. He huffed.

“What makes you think that she’d share anything with you?”

“Because I know her,” Olivia said, “we have history.” Something fluttered in her memory, Nina’s face outlined against vague white surroundings.

“I’ll need a car from the pool,” she added.

“Olivia,” Broyles said but she was already halfway to the door. “Agent Dunham,” he said, much firmer this time. Olivia stopped, hand on the knob.

“You’ve yet to be cleared for active duty. How you came about this information doesn’t give me faith that you’re fit to resume your normal job responsibilities.”

Olivia took three long strides back to Broyles’ desk, her black coat swishing around her. A flicker of something bloomed to her right, and the outline of a figure began to take shape but she didn’t stop to let it pull her attention away.

“Something is happening. This Observer could explain what’s going on. Nina must know how I can find him. Walter saw him in the lab on the other side decades ago, before Walter crossed to the other side. There’s got to be a connection with why I’m seeing him now.”

“You’re not listening, Agent Dunham,” Broyles continued, effectively cutting off Olivia’s already brewing argument. “This man appears during significant times in history. For whatever reason, he’s returned now after a notable absence.”

“When was the last sighting?” Olivia asked suddenly, “before mine today?”

Broyles’ jaw tightened. “The day the machine was turned on.”

Olivia wanted to smile. “See? It’s got to be connected.”

“Olivia, do you think this is the best idea?” Broyles asked seriously.

Olivia stared defiantly back at him. “Do you still think I’m unfit for duty?” she asked. Broyles appraised her, and Olivia knew he could lean in either direction when he was finished.

“No,” Broyles finally said after a long thought. He stood to his full height and his stature was almost overwhelming. “No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned. You’re a damn fine agent. The best I’ve had the pleasure to serve with. And I trust your judgment even if I don’t always agree with it.”

Olivia released the silent breath she was holding.

“But Olivia, beware of Nina Sharp.”

“Oh?” Olivia said, taking steps back and letting Broyles motion her back into her seat. She wanted to get to Nina, to get her answers and to get her life back. Broyles retrieved another piece of paper, this one tucked inside his pocket, cleanly folded into a perfect square.

“Not everyone has your best interests at heart, Agent Dunham. Least of all Nina Sharp.” He held out the square for Olivia to take and she did so, unfolding it carefully. She was stunned by what she saw

“Is that me?” she said in awe. Despite the creases, Olivia could firmly recognize herself sketched onto the fine weave of the paper, her gaze downcast and her hair billowing from the nape of her neck and trailing off the edge of the paper. It was surreal.

“It would appear so,” Broyles agreed. “Ms. Sharp gave me that,” he answered her unspoken question.

“Why?” she asked.

For the first time, Broyles looked like the words pained him. “We know what the event will be. Things have begun to happen, the machine is causing instability in our world and there’s nothing Massive Dynamic can do to stop it. She thinks.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “There has to be something,” she said, “we have to be able to do something.”

“Nina Sharp seems to think that there is something we can do. And it has to do with the piece of paper you’re holding in your hands.”

Olivia looked back down. In the background of the image were scrawled sequences of letters that Olivia didn’t recognize and she had a haunting feeling in the pit of her stomach. It looked like coded strands of DNA.

“Beware of Nina Sharp, Olivia. She shared this information with me and told me that I would have to make some difficult decisions in order to save this world. That certain sacrifices would have to be made. Namely, the person in that picture.”

Olivia couldn’t pry her eyes away from the image, letting Broyles’ words sink in.

“Why are you telling me this?” she finally asked, staring at Broyles who was in turn staring out the window that separated him and the pit of other agents below.

“Because I don’t believe her,” he said. “And you shouldn’t either. Go to Massive Dynamic. Ask the questions you need to ask and see if you find the answers. But do not underestimate her, not for an instant. Do you understand? She would sacrifice you to suit her intentions.”

Olivia nodded. “How long do we have?” she asked and Broyles hesitated. “Before the machine becomes unstable?” she added.

“Best estimate weeks, maybe. Worst, within days.”

Olivia felt her stomach plummet again, a heavy, thick drop.

“Then I’d better drive quickly,” she said. Broyles smiled, ever so lightly. He reached into his desk and pulled out the flash of Olivia’s shield and her weapon.

“Good luck, Olivia,” a voice said as she retrieved both and went on her way, feeling two sets of eyes on her as she left.  It wasn’t Broyles’ voice. 


	16. Feel the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We must look for consistency. Where there is a want of it we must suspect deception."  
> The Problem of Thor Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I'll never do another WIP. As always, special thanks to CW for the all night edit session to get this ready today. Obviously, there are folk out there crazier than I am. And that's saying something...

“Ms. Sharp will see you now,” the receptionist said as she led Olivia into Nina’s starched bone-white office at Massive Dynamic. Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling of disorientation that had begun as soon as she stepped foot onto the property; like something heavy had settled at the bottom of her stomach and it twisted the further she walked inside the building. For some reason the newly-reinstated badge clipped to her hip made her feel more in control of the disorientation so she continued on, still riding the flux of feelings but now armed with the information Broyles had given her.

“Thank you,” Olivia said, though her voice was thick. She swallowed the apprehension down, and tried to shake off the feeling that was slowly creeping up her spine like a burning fuse.

“Ms. Dunham, come in!” Nina said as Olivia entered, whipping from behind her desk to greet her. Nina extended her hand and Olivia shook it, and although she knew she was gripping the mechanical arm, it felt quite human, fully skin and bone.

_Don’t trust her,_ a voice whispered into her ear as a flash of color popped in her vision, and Olivia held onto Nina’s hand just a moment too long. Two blinks and a stall, and she brought herself back together.

“It’s good to see you’ve recovered,” Nina said cautiously, giving her a serious appraisal. Olivia dropped her hand and walked without invitation to the chair.  

“Thank you,” Olivia responded and waited for Nina to settle back into her spot behind her massive desk. Everything in the room felt cold and uninviting, same as it always had, and Olivia suspected that this was a very conscious decision on Nina’s part.

“I didn’t realize you had been cleared for active duty,” Nina said coolly and laid her gloved hands carefully on her desk.

“Just cleared,” Olivia retorted without elaborating. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” she continued and Nina pursed her lips.

“And already back to work, I see,” Nina grinned. “I suspect Broyles has told you about the conversation he and I had in regards to the machine,” Nina said without prompting, and Olivia nodded.  After a moment of close scrutiny, Nina added, “But I see that’s not what you want to talk about.”

Olivia felt the trickle of a migraine starting to build between her tense shoulder blades and pounding steadily up towards her head. The fuse of heat had just reached the base of Olivia’s skull when she realized that this migraine felt different. It wasn’t as painful if she didn’t try to block the sensation out, so she focused on Nina instead.

“You’re right, Ms. Sharp,” Olivia said. “Broyles did let me in on the conversation you had.  And it did catch my attention. A prophetic drawing of oneself will have that effect.” Nina cocked an eyebrow.

“Did he share why I spoke to him regarding the drawing?” Nina asked innocently. The outline of the man suddenly flashed from behind Nina’s right shoulder, the fairest of blue eyes glaring back at her. In another flash he had disappeared.

“He suspects that you have alternative motives, though he didn’t say exactly what those might be. And I can only assume, based on the drawing you’ve somehow obtained, that it has to do with my recent reactions to the machine.  And whatever else you’ve been made privy to in my private personnel file.”

Nina opened to mouth to object but Olivia had already pulled the folded picture from her pocket to place on the desk.

“But there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you first,” Olivia moved on, sliding Walter’s drawing toward Nina. “I saw this man at Harvard today. I want to know why. ”

“An Observer?” Nina responded, looking genuinely surprised. “You saw one?”

“You know who he is?” Olivia asked, and Nina sighed like she’d given something away she hadn’t intended. Olivia waited, already satisfied that she had her answer. 

“Of course we know,” Nina finally admitted. “I suspect you’ve talked to Walter about the man?” Nina said. 

“He said he saw him on the other side. With the alternate Walter.”

“Yes, at the exact moment that the alternate Walter Bishop unknowingly discovered the cure for his young son, whom our Walter Bishop had already lost to the illness. That’s correct. It’s the first direct interaction we’ve documented. I assume you know that he appears at specific and important times throughout history, including the events that led Walter Bishop to the other side?”

“And you think this is connected?” Olivia asked.

“Don’t you?” Nina responded and gave Olivia a patronizing look. “I was there that night. Did you know that, Ms. Dunham? When Walter crossed over to the other world atop a frozen lake one wintry night. I tried to stop him from crossing over, because I understood the consequences those actions would have on our world. That night cost me my arm, among other things.” Nina held up her gloved hand and looked wistfully at it. “One of the first things that Walter Bishop cost me.”

“I thought you said it was cancer,” Olivia said, though she couldn’t remember exactly why she thought that.

“Did I, now?” Nina responded with a sly smile before continuing.

“You can’t imagine enduring the pain of being trapped between worlds; it was excruciating. No offense to you, Ms. Dunham, but it’s difficult to describe to someone who can’t understand the true implications of breaching the universes, or the horror of knowing what the consequences of doing so will be.  All because one man couldn’t let go of one dead son. We all have our secret scars caused by Walter’s myopic judgment.”

The sensation Olivia had been nursing at the base of her skull reached the edges of her temples when Nina mentioned Walter’s name. She broke into a sweat and let go of trying to push the sensation away, and immediately became folded into it.

_“My father, not my favorite. He is, without a doubt, the most self-absorbed, twisted, abusive, brilliant, myopic son-of-a-bitch on the planet.”_

Olivia could see his face clearly, although it was darker and more violent now than she remembered. She was sitting across from him on a plane…

Olivia shook herself to break out of the memory, and saw that Nina was focused on her.  “What?” Olivia asked, realizing that she hadn’t reacted the way Nina was obviously hoping for. Olivia felt stifled in her clothing, like the heat had kicked up a few hundred degrees.

Nina pulled back the black leather glove, peeling the synthetic skin with it. The machine that controlled Nina’s fingers whirled, in place of bone was the eerie glow of tiny servos and electronic gears, moving each finger precisely.

“But that wasn’t the worst thing sacrificed that night. I also saw the man you described, the Observer in the tailored grey suit and hat. I was too distracted at the time, having left to seek medical attention, and it wasn’t until later that I realized what he was.”

“And what exactly is he?” Olivia interjected, not able to pull her eyes away from Nina’s electronic hand.

“What are _they_ is more correct.”

Olivia felt something brush against her neck, another slight bristling.

“What are _they?”_ Olivia amended.

Nina didn’t answer. Instead, she stood from her chair as she peeled the synthetic skin material back over the machinery again, showing off her perfectly normal looking arm and wrist, fingers twitching, curling.

“William Bell designed it himself. What Walter had taken from me, Bell has given back.  He saved me,” Nina said.  “Why do you suspect Broyles warned you against trusting me, Agent Dunham?”

Olivia didn’t answer, but felt the flush at her neck.

“Is he where you got the picture of me from?” Olivia asked. “From Bell?”

_Olivia…_

Nina swept past Olivia and walked through the space where the man had once stood.

“May I show you something?” Nina said as she withdrew a futuristic-looking tablet from a nearby bookshelf and handed it to her.  The screen lit up as Olivia touched it, and she could only assume it was one of Massive Dynamic’s own prototype designs. The tablet was displaying a map that Olivia could swivel with the touch of her finger, mostly showing her areas encompassing the greater New York and Boston area. There were several little electric red dots scattered across the map, and Olivia zoomed in to see with surprise where the dots were located. Two areas were of immediate interest to Olivia.

“And what am I supposed to be looking at?” Olivia asked.

“What I’ve already shown Phillip; those red dots are the areas of soft spot degenerations within our world. Degeneration that appears to have been steadily escalating since the day the machine was first turned on. Those mark the weakest areas we’ve encountered; the most unstable.”

Olivia stared incredulously at a particular dot in Brighton. “One is near my apartment,” Olivia observed and read out the other locations. “Massive Dynamic is on here… and Harvard.” Nina nodded.

“And Reiden Lake,” Nina continued, “Which is precisely why I reached out to Phillip.”

Olivia had a creeping feeling.  “You think I’m causing this?” she asked, holding the tablet for Nina to take back.

“No, just as I told Agent Broyles. At least not intentionally.  But from your own account there seems to be a significant connection between your recent…condition, and the ongoing effects the machine seems to be having in this world.”

“Walter has diagnosed my _condition_ as being connected to being dosed with Cortexiphan, not to interaction with the machine. The same Cortexiphan developed by Walter and Bell during their drug trials. I’ve been recently injected with it without my consent. Massive Dynamic wouldn’t have any involvement with that now, would it, Ms. Sharp?” 

Nina’s face flashed angrily and Olivia couldn’t hide her smile. She felt the man at her shoulder again, leading her into a memory she didn’t know she had.

_“I know where you got your information. About Claire Williams. What was her price? What did Nina want in return?” Olivia saw the man, felt her own apprehension at what the cost might be. But overlying that, she felt the appreciation and, below that, the affection._

_The man’s face was content; he sat on the bench looking pleased with himself._

_“Nothing untoward, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he responded._

_“Peter…” she complained._

Peter. Olivia blinked back the memory, her heart stuttering. She could hear Nina’s defensive tone in the background.

“If you’re making accusations, Ms. Dunham, I can assure you that whatever you believe has happened to you, Massive Dynamic isn’t responsible. I can’t speak for whatever it is that Walter Bishop has subjected you to, however. But that aside, now that we know Cortexiphan has been reintroduced to your system, it might prove to be beneficial towards ensuring our survival against the machine’s ongoing destruction of our world. We do believe there could be a solution to stopping the degeneration, as indicated by information we’ve recently…acquired.”

Another flash, and another memory whirred to life in her brain.

_“You don’t have to worry about me, I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. You have been looking out for me, so I’m just returning the favor,” the man continued, never breaking eye contact._

“Thank you,” Olivia said by mistake, garnering an interested look from Nina.

“You’re asking me to trust William Bell—because he’s the one that gave you the drawing? No offense Ms. Sharp, but why would I trust your information since you’ve only just now chosen to share it? How long have you known?” Olivia said quickly, trying to shuffle over the mistake she’d made in answering the man out loud moments before.

Nina didn’t respond, looking casually though Olivia, and for a moment Olivia was afraid she might have been able to see the man Olivia knew was now standing close to her.

Olivia waited patiently, hands in her lap.

“Information is distributed when and where it’s necessary. I was given this information when it was appropriate, and now I’m passing it on to you. Additionally,  I chose not to reveal to Broyles everything. There is something else that I think would make much more sense to you than it would him,” Nina said as she pulled a yellowing piece of paper from her desk drawer and slid it silently over to Olivia. The paper was identical to the one Broyles had given her, except the scene was different. Olivia felt an icy chill rush over her when she picked the paper up carefully, feeling both a haunting sensation and the sudden urge to panic.

The image was drawn in the same style and manner as the one that held her own face, complete with the DNA sequence in the background. But in this picture, most of the paper was filled with an image of the machine, a shirtless man trapped in the middle of it, arms shackled and head thrown back. Below that was the man’s face, eyes billowing fiery smoke. It was as though someone had drawn her recurring nightmare. It was the same man; the man from her nightmares, the one she’d been seeing glimpses of both here and when she was trapped on the other side. The man she knew was standing right beside her now.

“Who is he?” Olivia asked, but she knew her voice was strained.

“Don’t you recognize him?” Nina asked, eyes narrowed down to slits as she watched.

“No,” Olivia lied.

“This drawing was discovered at the same time we found the first parts of the machine to assemble.”

“And you kept this to yourself?” Olivia asked angrily, squeezing the delicate paper.

“We believe this is the man who created the bridge,” Nina spoke without commenting on Olivia’s accusation, which added her to irritation all the more. “We also believe that he’s the cause of the degeneration of our world. That whoever this man is, he is attempting to use the machine to bring about destruction of our entire universe. And for whatever reason, you’re somehow connected to him.”

Olivia sat breathless. A hazy figure behind Nina’s right shoulder appeared and glimmered, and the man stared brightly back at her. Olivia felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

“Why do you think he’s controlling the machine? Walter said we have no idea how it works.”

“Correct. We know that the machine is calibrated to a certain strain of DNA; one that doesn’t currently exist in anyone living in either this world or the other. And according to this picture, it’s most likely calibrated to whomever this is.”

“Does Walter know you have this information? You don’t believe he deserves to know this?” Olivia asked, her tightly-controlled anger threatening to boil over.

“We’re not going to share this information with Walter, and you know exactly why, Ms. Dunham. The machine needs to be turned off, or we will most certainly fall victim to the same fate that almost befell the other universe before we saved them. If this man is successful, if he crosses over into this world, we will most certainly be destroyed. I assure you, whoever this man might be, his intentions are not to bridge worlds. It’s to destroy ours. We only have one chance to stop this invasion, Olivia.”

_Liar._

Olivia jumped. “What is it that you want me to do?”

Olivia was assaulted with another image, a memory of standing on the 47th floor of a partially deserted hi-rise building. She felt a swell of unimaginable panic as blinking lights flickered ominously while a digital timer counted down the minutes.

_The countdown reached two minutes._

_“Olivia, we have to go,” Peter said as he grabbed at her elbow.  Olivia refused, shaking him off._

_She knew she could do it. She just knew she could diffuse the bomb that was creeping down to a single minute remaining._

_“I need to do this,” she said, feeling Peter’s fury. “There is no other way.”_

_Peter’s face raged. “If you stay here you are going to die,” he shouted angrily. “I’m not doing this with you, Olivia.”_

_Olivia stayed planted where she was._

_“You’re out of your mind,” was the last thing Olivia heard from him before he turned heel and disappeared. She started intently at the bomb, felt the flash of lights in her retinas._

_But Peter hadn’t left after all._

“You must understand, Olivia. This is our only chance,” Nina said and looked stricken; and Olivia realized she was back in Nina’s office, the memory gone.

“We’ve only got the machine, Olivia. That you successfully activated once before. According to this image you’re not the one calibrated to it, but there is a chance that you might be the one able to stop this man. To use the machine against him.”

“You want me to get into the machine,” Olivia said, startled.

Nina’s lip pulled down, she looked distraught and almost motherly, Olivia realized.

“Of course I don’t want you to, Olivia. But it’s our only chance.”


	17. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thanks to CW for the amazing edit. And thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and comment. One day I'll respond into a more dynamic dialogue, but for now, please know it's lovely to read them :)

Olivia buckled onto the wet grass of the small plot of land, hands on her knees and heaving in breaths like she was drowning. Because that’s how she felt; like she was too far off from shore and was getting sucked under by the current. She wasn’t sure why she was so overcome at that moment with raw emotion, but actually seeing the stark confirmation right in front of her traumatized her more than she’d been prepared for.

It hadn’t taken long to find this particular location, not once she figured out what it was she was searching for. While a phone call to Walter would have saved her precious time driving there, time was an expensive commodity she couldn’t afford to waste with lengthy explanations. But if she was being completely honest with herself, she really wasn’t quite ready to share with Walter what she had learned, and what she was planning on doing with that information. Not until she had solid evidence, because she knew he’d never agree to it otherwise, and the clock was ticking.

The visions were intoxicating — her memories, the other Olivia’s; new memories, old memories all jumbled together and she felt sick the whole lonely drive to Cambridge. Her entire universe was slipping in and out of existence and it was hard to hold tight to anything solid with any sort of certainty. Charlie was alive; Charlie was one of her alternate’s partners; Charlie was long dead and buried. Rachel was divorced and she and Ella were in her apartment sacking out on her couch; Rachel died in childbirth without giving birth to Ella; Rachel and Ella and _Eddie_ lived in Rhode Island with Greg. She wasn’t sure which reality was hers anymore since the memories were all so vivid and too intertwined for her to pull apart.

She had been replaying her meeting with Nina Sharp over in her mind while driving south to Cambridge and realized that the farther she’d driven away from Massive Dynamic’s headquarters, the easier it was to dissect the clearest memories, and the migraine she’d experienced had all but drained away. She wondered if it could be true that she was having an effect on the spots Nina had shown her, or if instead they were affecting her. But the more distance she put between her and the little red dots on Nina’s map, the less she felt _him_ staring over her shoulder. And she wasn’t sure if that was more comforting or disturbing. 

Nina had presented her with one working theory where no one else could: an explanation for her connection to the man, that he was trying to destroy their world and was using her to do it.

And once again, for some reason, she was the only one with the ability to stop him. She’d probably have to climb into the fucking machine that terrified her in order to stop him.

Simply because she was one of Bell’s Cortexiphan soldiers.  She didn’t have a choice anymore, not now. Not that she ever did in the first place. 

And maybe that was why she’d been so overcome and was so angry at the world the moment she saw the grave hidden among the overgrown landscape of forgotten tombstones. Because the sinister ghost that was haunting her belonged to a seven year old child.

She glared at the inscription on the tombstone, her fingers running across the engraved marble because she didn’t quite trust the really letters existed without touching them first.

_Peter Bishop_

_1978-1985_

It physically hurt her to touch the name, the same name scrawled in steam across her bathroom mirror. Olivia had been dizzy and drained since she first stepped foot on the grassy knoll of the plot, and it took several minutes for her to be able to stand straight again and take in the enormity of what stood before her. She felt the rain on her face when she turned it towards the grey, unforgiving sky.

“Is that you out there? Ready and willing to destroy the world? You want me to get into that… _thing?_ ” she said to no one, chest bubbling in anger again, but it turned quickly to bitterness.

“You’re just the sad dust and bones of a dead seven year old kid,” she mumbled as she kicked at the blades of grass and patches of moss that had long since grown over the mound of dirt that once was. She felt a familiar tingling sensation at the base of her skull, a whisper of a voice against her neck. _Finally,_ she thought.

“It must be difficult,” an uninflected voice suddenly intoned from behind her and Olivia spun in surprise, hand already on her holster.  “Grief is such a powerful emotion,” the bald man continued speaking from two feet away, in his dark grey suit with his fedora tipped against the rain. Olivia hadn’t seen or heard him approach.

“Stay where you are!” Olivia said as she undid the thumb break and unclipped her gun, taking two steps back and wondering where the hell he’d come from. The man tilted his head like Olivia had said something peculiar, his face emotionless, voice lacking inflection. Olivia’s pulse hammered. 

“I saw you in the courtyard today,” Olivia said, “what is it that you want?”

At this, the man began to mimic her words perfectly, timed exactly as Olivia said them. Olivia pointed her gun at the man, baffled.

“Who are you?” she said, the man’s voice beating her by just a split second. Olivia stood, shocked.

“Are you following me?” he continued in the same flat voice. As soon as Olivia thought the words, the man spoke them back to her. “How do you know Walter Bishop?” he said.

Olivia was flabbergasted. Just then she felt the flutter in her skull again and a male voice speaking nonsense words to her.  His outline flickered in and out over the bald man’s shoulder. She repeated what the man had whispered to her out loud:

“Apples, bananas, rhinoceros,” she said and the bald mad said them with her. Olivia balked, annoyed.

The bald man appeared to be concentrating on Olivia’s face. She squinted her eyes, and he mimed her perfectly. The voice inside her head continued to guide her and she heard the next words, but before she could say them, the bald man continued without her.

“I Want to Hold Your Hand,” he said, matching Olivia’s thoughts. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” he spoke over her.  “What do you know about Peter Bishop?” he finished without Olivia ever uttering a word.

Behind the bald man, Olivia saw the other man’s outline flare briefly, but he flickered out as quickly as he had appeared.

Olivia’s stance shifted, her jaw ached. 

“Who are you?” she asked, and mercifully, he did not mimic her this time.

“My name is _September_ ”he answered.

“Are you here to help me, September?” she asked.

The man didn’t budge. “I cannot interfere again. I’ve already affected the timelines too much,” he answered. Olivia wasn’t sure if it was his callous attitude or her shredded nerves, but she felt a surge of hot, white anger at the stranger.

She charged; she wanted to grab hold of the perfectly pressed suit and beat the answers out of him.

_Olivia,_ a voice warned, and she ignored it.

But she never got the chance. As soon as she reached within a foot of him, the bald man blinked out of existence.  Completely disappeared. She stopped short. He was gone. She felt someone staring at her and she swallowed down her temper.

“Why are you here now?” Olivia asked as she realized the bald man had reappeared behind her, standing silently atop the boy’s grave. It made her feel oddly possessive and angered her, like he was committing blasphemy just by standing there. “You’re here to observe us. Because something’s about to happen. Something big, isn’t it?” she said without turning to look behind her shoulder. “Something bad,” she continued, and finally turned to face him, studying his features.

September was a man with a pale, waxy complexion, and on closer inspection, completely without hair. She couldn’t tell if he even had eyelashes from where she stood. He was almost alien looking. Olivia lowered her weapon, made a show of not being dangerous.

“I have already witnessed what I came to observe. As I’ve been directed,” he offered simply. “What was written has come to pass.”

Olivia felt a chill against the rain, the blast of pebbled air against her neck. She kept her hand firmly on her gun as she holstered it.

“You’re supposed to get a front row seat to the end of the world? Or am I supposed to climb into that machine, is that what you came to watch?” Olivia asked wildly, not sure why she was asking this man such insane questions.

He stared at her, face blank.

“Olivia Dunham,” he said evenly, “you crossed over into the other universe to retrieve something. Before you were taken. Something important.” He eyed her. “Do you remember what it was?” he asked, and images flashed in Olivia’s head, although they were moving too quickly for her to latch onto anything substantial. She saw a man, a flash of red hair and an explosion. Her head flared and she hissed, grinding the palm of her hand into her temple.

“For a piece of the machine, the one that was stolen by those from the other side,” she answered hesitatingly, but felt like she was missing some crucial detail. The memory didn’t seem real. “They caught me trying to return.”

The man waited, unsympathetic. Olivia didn’t elaborate any further, an image of Bell flashed in her memory, and then one of Walternate.  She was struck by the smell of singed hair and phosphorous grenade explosions as the whole block around the Opera House burned.

“There were warnings against him returning,” September said. “I warned you once already of the consequences.”

The man turned his head again, and Olivia felt like he was reading her emotions, could see it on his face. She took a step back to break away from the feeling.

“So I’m supposed to sacrifice myself to save this world,” she pushed, “because of what this man is trying to do?” 

“The sacrifice has already been made,” he answered. “The worlds are unlinked and everything is as it should be.”

Olivia tried to process the meaning behind his words.  She felt the rain, but it was foreign, not wet enough to soak through her skin. Irrationally, she felt like laughing. Something finally made sense.

“When the machine was turned on, it wasn’t me who did it. It wasn’t them, or fate, or destiny. It was someone. Someone specific. Someone created the bridge.”

He nodded. “I was not there to witness it,” he added, “though it would have been something quite remarkable to see. But I was needed elsewhere.”

“Is he alive?” she asked, because she knew he’d understand. He had to.

A car backfired out on the road and Olivia turned at the sound, making a grab for her weapon. When she looked back he was no longer standing where he had been previously, he was now further off to her left, beyond the grave. He wore a look that was almost affectionate. His suit was miraculously dry while Olivia’s was soaked to the bone.

“You helped save a boy once, trapped beneath a building, do you remember?” he said, and Olivia felt like something was inching up her skin, just out of reach of her distant memory. “A boy who would most certainly have died as it was originally mandated he should. And yet, he did not.”

Olivia seized on the memory of the frail little bald boy she’d fed M&Ms to in a hospital bed; the one who’d unexpectedly helped her track down a serial killer. She felt drunk, the smile creeping onto her face, though his face remained blank. For some reason, she also saw the man with the dark brown hair and steel blue eyes there in that same memory. 

“Still hate the yellow M&Ms?” Olivia asked cautiously, and watched for a response. The man didn’t give her one, though his eyes softened.

“A sacrifice was made to save two worlds from destruction. It is imperative that sacrifice not be undone. Your decision now will either save or end this world,” he said instead.

“What if I die in the machine?” Olivia asked.

“It is not only your survival that is essential,” he said, “it is all of yours.” And at that he tipped his hat to her and Olivia knew her time with him was running short. She took quick steps toward him, afraid he’d blink back out of existence with the answers she needed.

“Wait,” she said as he turned to walk away, “why are you telling me this?” she shouted over the steady rain.

He did stop, if only briefly to look at Olivia from underneath his cap.

“Consider the debt repaid,” September answered as he disappeared, leaving Olivia alone in the cemetery once more.


	18. Pale Blue Eyes

Olivia was sitting quietly at the bar when Walter spotted her. While it hadn’t been a long walk across campus from the lab, he didn’t like being outdoors. Too many people; too much noise on the streets; everyone too ugly and too unfamiliar. He couldn’t think properly outside his lab and he much preferred to be alone. It was cold outside too, and he hoped that maybe Olivia would take him back in the car once they were finished.

When Olivia had asked him to meet her there, Walter couldn’t imagine what needed to be said in a bar that couldn’t be said in the comfort of his lab. But he came all the same, because there was something in her voice that left little doubt that this was necessary for her. Astrid had written out directions on a piece of paper with little boxes for buildings before giving him her cell phone.

“I’ll be quite all right, Agent Farnsworth,” Walter had complained while Astrid showed him how to dial her on the lab phone, “I’ve used a cellular device before.”

Astrid had ignored him, telling him again that she’d gladly take him, but he refused. He was a grown man, able to walk himself around if he desired. She used a safety pin to hide the directions on the inside of his jacket, just like his mother had done when he was a boy.

It took him over a half an hour to get to the Corner Tavern, tucked away in one of the quieter areas of the university town over on Marlborough Street. Olivia still had her coat on, hunched over a small glass that she didn’t really seem interested in drinking.

“Agent Dunham,” Walter said as he approached cautiously.

“Thanks for coming, Walter,” Olivia said without looking away from her glass, signaling him to take the seat next to her. “Would you like something to drink?” Walter removed his gloves and hat, trying to get comfortable.

“Absolutely no lumbar support,” he complained as the bartender made his stop. When both the bartender and Olivia stared at him he realized he’d said it out loud.

“No thank you,” he said to the bored looking man, “I prefer not to indulge,” he added with a smile, and Olivia barely hid her exasperation and ordered herself yet another whisky that she didn’t touch. She just stared intently at the glass.

Walter was lost in his own thoughts when Olivia finally spoke. 

“Walter, I have something to ask you,” she finally said.

“It really is remarkable, isn’t it?” Walter said, musing aloud.

Olivia sounded impatient. “What is?”

“That such a dark establishment could have such beautiful artwork. It really is enjoyable,” he said, licking his lips as he stared at the framed maps of old Boston and photographs of local architecture located around the bar, but stopped short when he saw Olivia’s drawn face looking ominously at him.

“What is it dear?” he said.

“I want to go into the machine,” Olivia said without any preamble, and Walter’s wispy smile vanished when he couldn’t find any trace that Olivia was joking. He couldn’t think of anything adequate enough to register his dismay.

“I know what you’re going to say, Walter, but please hear me out,” Olivia continued in hushed tones and with a conspiratorial look on her face. “Whatever’s been happening to me isn’t just from the Cortexiphan. Something _happened_ when we turned the machine on. I can still feel it whenever I get close to it.”

“Olivia, we discussed this already. I don’t know what will happen if you attempt to enter it, but I can surmise that whatever it is, it won’t be beneficial. The machine isn’t calibrated to you,” Walter said.

“Then _who_ is it calibrated to?” Olivia argued. “You said I was the one who allowed the machine to turn on in the other universe when the Bridge was created. It’s been months since then, Walter. Why is it still on now? And why am I having memories that aren’t mine?”

“Olivia, I believe that the quantum entanglement our universe experienced with the other side enabled you to turn the machine on, but the universes disentangled the day the Bridge was created.  It could have—” Walter began, but then interrupted himself. “No.  We still do not yet understand enough of the machine’s capacity to take that risk, Olivia. According to Massive Dynamic’s analysis, it is designed to respond to a unique DNA profile they haven’t yet identified. If you were to get in it, it could kill you. It likely _will_ kill you.”

Walter narrowed his eyes and stopped, suddenly feeling as though he was being led into a trap.

Olivia took a sip of the whisky, but was careful not to over-drink. He realized she’d asked him to meet her here, in a place where she knew he’d be uncomfortable, and she wasn’t arguing against any of the points he was raising.

“You’re _not_ the match,” he stated again.

Olivia’s face remained passively neutral, the detached doll’s face he was usually accustomed to seeing. The bar was mostly deserted, and the ancient smell of patchouli clinging to the dark brick walls was giving Walter a homey feeling that he found quite comforting. 

“You’re right Walter,” Olivia said after a long while. “We got the results. The genetic profile shows you’re a 50 percent match.”

Walter balked. “What?” he asked, unable to process her words.

“It’s most similar to you,” Olivia stated through another sip, “but it’s not yours. I think it’s _his.”_

“Whose?” Walter asked, unsure if he heard her correctly.

“The man,” Olivia said as she ran a thumb over the lip of the now half-empty glass. “The man I’ve been seeing. The one from the tank. The one that you said can’t exist. Doesn’t exist. But how can that be? I saw him when I was trapped over there, and now I’m seeing him here. He’s important Walter. I just know it. He’s the key to this,” Olivia said, speaking at a rapid clip, drink forgotten.

Walter’s face was fraught with pain. Speaking of her time _over there_ always brought him great distress. Two months of Olivia being replaced with that…monstrosity of a woman was something he hadn’t forgotten or forgiven.

Olivia continued cautiously.

“And it could be that he’s a figment of my imagination, or some residual side effect of the Cortexiphan I’ve been dosed with.  Or maybe I am just going crazy. Or, _and I’ve thought about this a lot,_ Walter— what if he is real?”

“Olivia,” Walter started, his voice hitching up a few octaves.

“It makes sense,” Olivia argued quickly, “you said that the man appeared to me over there as a subconscious effect of being implanted with false memories. So why would he be back now? And why would I be seeing _him_ specifically _?_ Who is he, and what makes him important?”

“Perhaps he is merely a face, Olivia, a face you saw in a taxi or in a store or out on a case, a stranger your confused brain seized on and filled in gaps with,” he said, rubbing his shaking hand. No amount of massaging was going to soothe Walter’s rapidly shredding nerves. Olivia bounced back as soon as Walter finished his thought.

“If he existed over there, then there would be some record of him, right? He doesn’t exist any more over there than he does here. I’ve checked. And it’s not just that I’m seeing _him,_ ” Olivia cut in before Walter had a chance to further his argument. “I feel like I’m bleeding between…realities. And not mine, and not the other Olivia’s.  There are differences in cases we worked, in things I’ve experienced as me, and as her. And I can’t stop it from happening. I’m not sure I want it to stop. What if he’s _not_ some figment of my imagination?” she ground out, lowering her voice when the bartender wandered too closely to refill her drink.

“You’ve verified that he doesn’t exist with them?” Walter said, his face bleak.

“Yes,” Olivia said, “they’re not supposed to be the enemies anymore, right?”

She could see the hurt on Walter’s face. But it wouldn’t matter as long as he heard her out. Walter cleared his throat after a long while.

“It’s still happening, then?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “It’s like déjà vu. I know I’ve experienced it before, but it’s…different. And it gets worse in certain places.”

“The lab?” Walter mused. Olivia nodded.

“And Massive Dynamic. Anywhere close to the machine. My apartment,” she said and sipped the whisky at the mention of her apartment.  It burned going down.

Walter’s mind whirled with possibilities. Something suddenly struck him. “The antipsychotics you were taking could have contributed to your confused state of mind. The side effects are regrettably scary when taken in high doses. Vivid dreams, which could escalate to vivid waking dreams…” Walter started rattling off, “and we don’t know what combined effects they have when mixed with Cortexiphan. These hallucinations could be the result of a severe chemical interaction.”

“I haven’t taken the Risperidone since New York,” Olivia said, and Walter’s mouth puckered.

“Find the flaws in my theory,” she continued when Walter offered no argument. “You said that the Cortexiphan changes my perception; it allowed me to see the other side before. It helped me get back home.”

“Yes,” Walter said, feeling very anxious.

“What if,” she started cautiously, biting at her chapped lips, “what if, when the Bridge was formed, it was someone else who did it? Someone who _intended_ to create it?” Before he had time to consider her line of questioning, she switched tack rapidly. “Our worlds were also linked the night you originally crossed over, right?” she said.

“Yes, inexplicably so.” Walter answered, aggravated and unable to process where Olivia’s theory was leading.

“And now they’re not.”

Walter still didn’t know that with absolute surety, but he thought not; the creation of the Bridge had corresponded with them being sealed off completely from the other side. Unless… 

“Olivia,” Walter started to put together the pieces, “you think _the man_ bridged the two worlds. That he’s the cause of the link.”

“ _Someone the machine was specifically attuned to_ , that’s what you said, Walter,” Olivia tried not to push. She didn’t touch her drink; she was so close. Her heart thrummed.

“It doesn’t make sense…” Walter finally said. “Who would he be?” 

There was a long stretch of time before Olivia answered.

“The worlds linked the moment you crossed over, Walter. In 1985. When you crossed over the save your son. The DNA that’s closer to yours than it is to mine or anyone else’s, except maybe your wife.” She said the words carefully but Walter’s face had already drained. He stood quickly from his stool, feeling too little air in the bar.

“It didn’t make any difference, I’ve told you before,” Walter said. “I didn’t save my son. Either one.”

“I know,” Olivia said, standing as well and trying to keep Walter focused. She spoke softly, like she’d heard Astrid do. “I know. He drowned. You’ve told me the story, Walter.”

“Then what else is there to discuss?” he said, already fumbling with his gloves but his hands felt like two balloons.

 _“What if he didn’t?”_ Olivia said and that stopped him. Walter felt his emotions rise to the surface, hot and wild.

Something extraordinary happened then, as he stood unhinged and staring at Olivia who was looking expectantly back at him. David Bowie’s _The Man Who Sold the World_ came on gently in the background, and his lungs nearly imploded from the pain of his confusion and anger.

“Walter,” Olivia’s voice was soothing, and he felt her hand on his forearm guiding him back to his seat. He allowed her to lead him, tears blurring his eyes.

“He did drown,” Walter said, angrily. “I watched my son die twice. Watched the light leave his eyes. You doubt that?”

“Were his eyes blue?” Olivia asked, and Walter stopped. “A clear, bright, blue?”

Walter nodded numbly. “Yes. Quite unlike mine or Elizabeth’s.  From the day he was born.” Walter avoided saying his name.

Olivia’s smile waned. “I don’t think that Peter’s dead,” she said with steel in her voice. It felt right to say his name. It was a warm friend on her tongue. “And I think I know how to bring him back.”

Walter refused to allow himself to hope. “No. Even if you’re right, it doesn’t change the fact that you can’t possibly try to enter the machine,” Walter said, though his tongue was thick. And then he saw it. The Cheshire grin creeping along Olivia’s lips.

“I don’t think we need the machine, Walter.  I think we can do it with the tank.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Olivia had planned this from the start.

“You would have made a wonderful con artist,” Walter lamented as he took Olivia’s other whisky and drank it down in one swallow. 


	19. For the Longest Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end. Thank you to CoffinWood, because without whom this story would not have been written.

Olivia stood in awkward trepidation, stripped down to her underwear in the belly of the lab once again.  The acrid smell of the burnt filaments from the light bulbs she’d exploded still hung viciously in the air, even though it had been days since Olivia’s heart had stopped in the room. Although anxious, she felt her skin vibrate in jittery anticipation; every millimeter of freshly exposed skin stood taut as she stared at the tank that had nearly doubled as her coffin.

“Perhaps you should sit,” Walter said from behind her, hand firm on her elbow and wearing his anxiety like a second skin. “The drugs should begin to take effect here soon. It will be easier if you’re seated.”

Olivia felt the giddy high from the combination of LSD and stimulants Walter had administered, against his many objections and temper tantrums, so she allowed him to lead her to the bench to sit. She would try to assuage his fear as much as she could, but she wasn’t going to let him talk her out of this.

“Thank you, Walter,” Olivia said once firmly seated, feeling light-headed and off-kilter. Her fingers tingled, her palms were sticky with sweat. She didn’t like the sensation, but it wasn’t particularly bad.

Walter had given up trying to convince to change her mind, although Olivia could see the twitch in his mouth signifying he still wanted to argue with her about it. She could tell by the blatant look of distress on his face that he thought this experiment would fail once again, and likely cost her life in the process.

“I understand,” Olivia said suddenly and she could feel the flash of heat from Walter’s face as he looked at her. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she added, giving voice to Walter’s unspoken fear. His face softened.

“Of course, dear” was all he said, and he cupped her hand tenderly in his. He didn’t say anything more, and Olivia felt the warmth of his hand as she fell further in the murky cloud that was slowly penetrating her consciousness. She let herself lean in, savoring the warmth.

“Astrid, would you retrieve the equipment?” she heard Walter say, but his voice was blown away like a breeze had trickled through the lab.

Her surroundings blurred and Olivia would have been alarmed if she wasn’t so used to the feeling of being drugged. The lab she knew and recognized slithered droplet by droplet away as everything shifted slightly, with the walls changing and equipment melting into different areas or disappearing all together. If she concentrated hard enough, she found she could keep the room pulled together into a configuration she recognized.

“I’m singing in the rain,” Olivia said off-handedly and Walter’s face perked up slightly. She wasn’t sure why she said it, but it felt right.

“It appears that the drugs are working,” Walter commented, and with one last pat on her hand he disappeared from Olivia’s vision.

Olivia tried to keep her sight trained on something stationary in order to stop the whole lab from slipping sideways, and she focused on the monstrosity of the tank she was soon going to have to crawl into again.

As the mist in her mind began to lift, Olivia could see him quite clearly. The man stood tall and proud, but glimmered in and out of existence like a flickering light, the glow about him like a halo. The pea coat he usually wore was gone, replaced with a dark zippered sweater. He looked at her and from the downturn of his lips, she knew he was upset.

“Don’t be mad,” she said accidently.

“Sorry, I know it’s cold,” Astrid’s voice fluttered in and Olivia noticed that she was attaching the electrodes to her stomach. Astrid looked a bit different as she puffed a warm breath onto the gel for the next electrode; her hair was a little longer and she was wearing a deep purple sweater Olivia had seen her wear a dozen times before. In her confusion, Olivia forgot to concentrate on staying solid.

And as soon as she did, Astrid wasn’t there. And neither was Olivia.

Olivia could see herself, standing in the exact same place where she was now stripped down to her underwear, but it wasn’t Astrid fixing the long dangling wires of electrodes; it was him. Same clothes, the same reprimanding expression as he knelt to attach the last one onto her stomach. Olivia was distracted by his hands.

 _“I still think this is deeply irresponsible and believe me, I would know,”_ the man said with thinly veiled anger, and Olivia could feel the jolt to her spine. “ _I hope your guy is worth it_.” The mist settled in once again, and his image disappeared.  She was back to looking up at Astrid, who was now wearing a grey blazer in place of the sweater Olivia had just seen her wearing.

“What?” Olivia said when she realized Astrid had finished placing all the electrodes and was now talking to her.

“Are you sure about this, Olivia?” Astrid’s face was soft and lovely, the color of caramel and Olivia felt the warmth of her concern spreading through her shoulders. “He’s terrified of you getting back into that thing. And so am I.”

“Tell Charlie I’ll be okay,” Olivia said and Astrid’s eyebrows crumbled slightly, like Olivia had said something she wasn’t supposed to mention. Astrid turned to look at Walter before Olivia had a chance to ask why her sweet face now looked so sad.

“I think she’s ready,” Astrid said.

The floor was cold to Olivia’s unsteady bare feet as she passed over it, both Walter and Astrid with a hand on either side guiding her. The man followed them too, his eyes slit and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he pointed at her.

 _“The man who was just released from a mental institution, he wants to give you a drug overdose and stick a metal rod into your head and put you naked into a rusty tank of water,”_ Olivia heard him snarl.

She ignored him. This wasn’t up to him and the hell if she was going to let him boss her around.

“He’d do the same for me,” she said aloud, garnering odd looks from Walter and Astrid.

Olivia climbed into the tank feeling the same trepidation as the first time she’d crawled in years ago, but with a renewed sense of purpose blistering under her skin. Walter stood watching her from outside as Astrid closed the heavy doors, trapping Olivia inside. Olivia felt the echoing click as it sealed her fate.

Walter returned to his perch overlooking the monitors displaying her heart, blood pressure, and brain wave signals, feeling a thread of dread winding throughout his core. In that moment there was a loud scratch along the silence of the lab and the strains of a familiar song fluttered through the air. Walter’s mouth went dry.

“I didn’t know you fixed the turntable,” Astrid said as she clapped her hands clean of dust as she joined him overlooking the tank, arms crossed.

“There’s that extra reading again. What do you think it means?” she said aloud, tracing the lines on the monitor, but Walter had stopped paying attention. When Astrid looked at him, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Walter’s face was drawn and stretched, his blood drained and he shuffled down the few steps to where his precious turntable was now playing seamlessly. Walter felt a chill down his spine, and with shaking fingers he touched the machine. It was completely intact, playing delicately, the black record spinning as David Bowie crooned. 

“No,” he muttered in disbelief as he ran a thumb along the knobs, “how can this be? It was destroyed.”

He got a feeling he couldn’t shake and stared incredulously at the tank, realization beginning to dawn on him while something tickled at the base of his neck. He turned his head and saw the wispy outlines of a man standing in the corner, his eyes a shade of blue that Walter recognized instantly, even though it had been so long since he had last stared into them.

Inside the tank, Olivia was quiet and excited, feeling every nerve electrified inside her skin. Her heart rattled in her ribcage. She breathed in silently against the soundlessness, one, twice, before she felt him.

There was a pull inside her ribcage, a warmth she knew that spread from her chest into her fingertips and she would have been afraid if she wasn’t sure this was supposed to happen. It was a panicked sensation; one she recognized from the alleyway after she’d shot Charlie. The pull was uncomfortable, heavy inside her stomach. It choked the air out of her.

“I’m here,” she said aloud. “I’m here.”

First there was silence, and then there was nothing.


End file.
